


Once Upon An Ice Rink

by LinneaKou



Category: A Cinderella Story (2004), Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Cinderella Elements, Foster Care, Ice Skating, M/M, Male Cinderella, Secret Identity, Step-parents, Step-siblings, YA Novel, reverse au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-23 16:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 72,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16162592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinneaKou/pseuds/LinneaKou
Summary: Fourteen-year-old Victor Montgomery toils away in his own home at the whim of his not-so-nice stepmother and his two nasty step-brothers, and spends all his free time working at his late father's ice rink, all the while dreaming of being able to skate in the upcoming exhibition and crushing on hometown hero, figure skating World Champion Yuuri Katsuki. He's just trying to survive high school until he can finally escape his stepfamily's house.When his online friend, whom he only knows by his username "bravep0rk," convinces him to sign up, Victor assumes a brand-new identity. He'll need the help of his closest friends to enter the show in secret and pull together a program sure to impress any online admirer-- but his stepmother isn't going to let him achieve his goals so easily, and it turns out that bravep0rk has some secrets of his own...





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Happy second anniversary, YOI fandom!
> 
> This is dedicated to all my fandom friends who have been having a rough time. We're gonna make it through this.
> 
> I teamed up with Rakel (Shadhahvar) for this Bang! [Find their blog here!](https://shadhahvar.tumblr.com/)
> 
> ["Soundtrack" playlist can be found here!](https://open.spotify.com/user/cq57pw7rqj2o1fkg46gy537c7/playlist/6Urxhv64bqZVelwbO6INAX?si=sn-gGG9KRgm1VpKe--6YNQ)

“ _Once upon a time, in a land not-so-far away, there lived a little prince._

_His kingdom was small, but it was full of life and cheer._

_(Oh, and it was actually an ice rink.)_

_The King and Queen of that kingdom loved their son very much, and they endeavored to ensure that his childhood was a happy one._

_The Queen was a graceful dancer, and the King was a mighty warrior and leader of his knights, and both rulers dominated the ice in their chosen disciplines._

_The Prince was their pride and joy, set to inherit the kingdom. He was very young, and he was bright, and he brought happiness to all who encountered him._

_And then, as it often did, tragedy suddenly struck. The Queen fell ill, and very quickly passed from the world. The King was heartbroken, and retired from the battlefield on the ice._

_The Prince was too young to understand the gravity of his loss. As he grew older, his memories of the Queen faded into obscurity, but he also came upon mementos of his mother’s life. He discovered the dance of her people, and he began to dance as well._

_The King, though pained by the memory of his late wife, supported his son’s endeavors to master the ice much as the Queen had. He spoke little of her, and hid away his reminders of his lost wife, and silently stayed out of the public eye._

_The Prince began to excel on the ice, and grew to love it much as his mother had. His kingdom was bright, and wonderful, and absolutely perfect._

_And then the King married again._

_It was several years after the Queen passed, and a newcomer Duchess caught the King’s eye. She had her own young sons who also practiced the discipline of dance. They became the Prince’s fellows, and then suddenly the Prince had to share his kingdom._

_Sadly, the King’s second marriage was brief as well, for not even a year after the wedding, a fire broke out and tore through the castle. The King, while rescuing his son, was lost as well._

_And so the second Queen was left with a Prince that she did not want, and a kingdom that she wished to divide up between her own sons. She rebuilt the castle, banished the Prince to the dungeon, and crowned her sons the new Princes of the kingdom._

_And the true Prince remained, locked deep in the castle, biding his time until he could reclaim his rightful throne…_ ”


	2. A Dream Is A Wish

 

“ _Victor!!_ ”

I woke up little by little, my eyes gummed shut by sleep gunk that scratched when I wiped it away. It was warm in my blanket burrito, and I really didn’t want to get out.

The door at the top of the basement stairs slammed open, and I heard Dina’s shrill voice echoing down the stairwell. “ _Victor_ , where’s our breakfast?!”

I squeezed my eyes shut again, trying to hold onto the remnants of my dream. It had been a nice one. I’d been skating in it…

“ _VICTOR_.”

“I’m up!” I yelled, just to shut her up. “I’m awake! I’ll be right there!”

“You should have been up earlier!” my stepmother snapped, and slammed the basement door shut.

I managed a squinty look at the digital clock on my makeshift bedside table; it was 6:24 in the morning. “Ugh,” I said, face-planting into my pillow. The basement’s chilly air began to seep into my cozy cocoon, and that did it for me. I unrolled from my burrito and quickly remade my bed, speeding up when I heard stomping upstairs.

“Hey, _Loser!_ ” I heard Winston shout. “We’re starving! _Come on!_ ”

One of these days I was going to lose my temper and do something… something violent, I dunno, or maybe just gross. Like fart on their food or something.

(I’m not good at revenge.)

Maybe I’d slather their eggs in hot sauce. _Everyone knows that the Montgomery boys can’t handle the heat._ But then again, I liked having a place indoors to sleep. Revenge would have to wait another… I mulled it over as I changed my clothes and slipped socks onto my feet. I had just started my freshman year in high school, so… _three years, almost nine months._

Oh god, I was going to literally go insane if I had to wait until after graduation to let off steam.

Luckily, I had a shift at the rink after school. I was going to close up and bike home, and no one had the ice booked for an hour before closing.

Well. ‘No one.’

I pushed my so-blond-it-was-practically-silver hair off my face and stumbled up the stairs, blinking at the kitchen lights.

My stepfamily all swiveled to watch me shuffle into the kitchen, not even bothering to get up from their chairs at the mahogany kitchen table (and I knew it was mahogany because Dina had flipped out at me about using proper cleaners on it.)

My stepmother was a medium-height woman with dark, shoulder-length red hair - and yes, it was natural, I had to buy her special redhead shampoos whenever I did the grocery shopping - and a fairly pretty face, even though she’d kind of aged prematurely thanks to all the smoking she tended to do when she was stressed. She was skinny and tended towards wearing chunky heels all the time, even in the house, and she also generally tended to dress very fashionably all the time. If it weren’t for the fact that she was literally the dictionary definition of the Wicked Stepmother out of a fairy tale, I’d think she was pretty cool.

Her sons kind of took after her, looks-wise; the younger one was Winston, and he was also a redhead with a fairly modern fashion sense. He was still pretty short, and Dina kept promising him a growth spurt sooner rather than later. Rupert had hit his growth spurt and was a few inches taller than his mother now, with dark brown hair that tended to shine red in the sunlight. Both of the boys managed to inherit their mother’s skinny frame and symmetrical face, and honestly I would have thought of them as attractive from a distance… but just like their mother, they kind of epitomized Evil Step-siblings when we were all at home.

“Finally,” Rupert said, glaring at me. “Took your sweet time, huh, albino freak?”

I didn’t take the bait, flicking the massive stove on and getting two burners going. The next thing to get started was the toast, which was easy enough. I slipped into my usual breakfast routine, tuning out my stepfamily as they muttered and grumbled at the kitchen table.

It took a few minutes but eventually I loaded a platter with half a scrambled dozen eggs, tons of bacon, and buttered toast with various jams and jellies - all locally produced, from the finest orchards of the Michigan mitten, _woohoo buy local I guess_ \- for my stepmother and her boneheaded sons to pick at. The bacon smelled _so good_ , but I knew what would happen if I tried to snag a piece, so I retreated back into the kitchen to clean up and boil some water for my store brand oatmeal.

I wished that I could at least get away with name brand food for myself, but Dina already bitched enough at me for my recent growth spurt and how much it cost her to clothe me. I chewed on what basically tasted like flakes of wet paper as my step-brothers stuffed their faces and their mother looked on.

“Growing boys need their protein,” she said, beaming.

 _What am I, chopped liver?_ I kept quiet and made myself swallow, only barely keeping myself from gagging. I looked up to see Dina smirking at me.

I looked away.

“Take your time, boys,” Dina said cheerily. “You’ve got half an hour before I need to drive you to school.” She snapped her fingers at me. “Victor, I need you to get the laundry started after you’ve finished eating. Oh, and clean the pool before you leave.”

I glared daggers at my oatmeal, but nodded. I would have to take my bike if I wanted to make first bell, and I’d have to rush one of my chores. I decided that the pool could get skimmed, since the trees in the backyard would probably shed more leaves during the day, and I could always use that as an excuse if Dina decided to nitpick.

I cleaned up my breakfast and then headed upstairs to the bedrooms to collect all the clothes in the hampers. Both of my step-brothers had left their dirty laundry all over their rooms, so gathering all of that up ate into my chore time. Dina had left her laundry in her hamper, but it was all stuff that needed to be washed specially, so I dragged everything back downstairs into the basement and dumped the boys’ stuff into the washer, making sure to check their pockets for the random crap they left inside.

Years ago, when I first started doing their laundry for them, I’d tried to return the stuff in my step-brothers’ pockets as quickly as possible. They were pretty unpleasant about it, so I’d just started leaving their credit cards and student ID’s in their pockets to be washed and dried, just to teach them a lesson. Dina had locked me out of the house, and I’d ended up the one learning that lesson. Now, I took the stuff out of the pockets and left it in their rooms.

She once dragged me upstairs when Winston accused me of stealing some of the cash that he’d left in his pocket, and had made me stand there in the hallway as she counted the cash out to make sure I hadn’t taken any. It had been my first and only warning - I was not to even _think_ about taking any money from them.

My stepmother didn’t even bother giving me an allowance - “you living here is your allowance,” she’d said once, a few years ago - and made me into her indentured servant both at home and at my father’s ice rink, which she’d inherited after he died. I didn’t get a paycheck there, but people would give me tips, and since I didn’t have a W2 - yeah, I learned about those already - I was free to take those cash tips for myself. I even stuck a tip jar out on the counter when I was working the front desk, and no one noticed. Not even Dina.

Still, me having my own cash meant that the boys were always accusing me of stealing from them, so I had to be sneaky about it. I never had all that much, just a bunch of singles and a few fives at any given time, but it was enough to be able to pay for little things.

Today, I didn’t find anything too valuable in my step-brothers’ pockets, just some notes they’d probably been passing in class, and other random bits of paper, some raffle ticket stubs for some reason… I still gathered it all up and left it in piles to stick back in the boys’ rooms. Then, it was back upstairs so I could go and dredge the leaves out of the ridiculous in-ground pool that had definitely not been there when my mom had been alive.

I heard the sound of Dina’s car revving down the driveway - _way to go, Stepmom, you’re going to ruin the engine_ \- as I started scooping the leaves off the surface of the water. I had to wrinkle my nose at the smell of the cleaning chemicals, but I’d dropped giant chlorine tablets into the filter last night, and the smell meant they were working. Dina liked her water to be crystal-clear if she ever set foot in her pool.

Once I’d removed an acceptable amount of leaves from the pool, I ran back downstairs to the basement. I switched the wash over to the dryer, packed up my school bag, and slung it over my shoulder before running upstairs to dump my step-brothers’ forgotten pocket junk in their rooms. Then I had to drag my bike out of the garden shed and lock up the house so I could frantically pedal across town to make it on time for first period.

The sun was already high in the sky as I biked down the neatly repaved roads near the neighborhood we lived in. Once the nice roads gave out to the more cracked and crumbling pavement, I switched over to the sidewalk. I was officially out of the ‘nicer’ part of town.

The nice thing about my school was the fact that it was only a twenty minute bike ride if I pushed myself. And boy howdy did I push myself, because I was running late.

Once I’d reached the high school, I hurried to park my bike at the rack and lock it. The bell hadn’t rung yet, but--

 _Crap, crapcrapcrapcrapcrap--_ I saw the hall monitor starting to close one of the doors in the main entrance in order to lock it. He caught sight of me, wagged his eyebrows, and made as if to heave the other one shut.

I gave him the evil eye as I scrambled up the stairs and shoved past him, and his laughter chased me down the hall to Homeroom.

 _Rude_. There was no reason to be such an asshole. Stupid seniors. I couldn’t wait until this guy graduated.

I barely made it into the classroom before first bell, and my homeroom teacher Mr. Richards gave me a dirty look as I collapsed into my seat.

“Took you long enough,” Chris, one of my absolute best friends, whispered to me.

I rolled my eyes at him as the PA system chimed and the volunteer Pledge reader started up. We all dragged ourselves back to our feet and faced the flag, but I was still breathing too heavily to really bother with it.

There was some screeching and feedback as the principal tugged the mic away, or at least that’s what I assumed was happening.

The daily announcements were pretty basic: track team tryouts, football game at the end of the week, _go Terriers_ , yearbook club… all stuff that I didn’t really care about, if I were being honest.

Once the principal signed off, Mr. Richards attempted to drum up interest in the Matheletes group that he ran, but gave up as everyone ignored him to chatter among themselves. People slipped out of their assigned seats to gather into their little cliques, and Chris and I scooted around as my other best friend Georgi joined us as well.

“No one ever promotes the drama department,” he complained. “It’s always ‘oooh athletics, look at the football team’ and no appreciation for the arts.”

Chris examined his nails. “Well, what did you expect? The one famous athlete at this school isn’t exactly on a team or anything.”

I smothered a sigh and then a grumble when both of them gave me a _look_. “I’m over him,” I insisted. “It was just a harmless celebrity crush, shut up.”

“Ah, unattainable love,” Georgi said, fluttering his eyelashes. “I feel bad for you.”

“How long did your last relationship last?” I retorted.

Georgi ignored me and sighed again. “Well, at least my cosplay group got into the newspaper, and we got interviewed by the _Terrier Today_ crew.”

Chris slow clapped it out and I rolled my eyes. Georgi had been talking up his appearance on the school’s weekly student-produced TV show for weeks.

“I spent the weekend in Ann Arbor,” Chris said. “I hate it there, everything is so bougie.”

“How is that any different than here?” Georgi muttered.

The town we had grown up in was Perrault, Michigan; it was a lovely little town stuffed full of rich people. We were just a few notches below our neighboring town of Ann Arbor, with U of M looming over it. Our schools were pretty okay, and we had a lot of startups and small businesses based in town. Really, the only thing we could boast about was the Olympic ice rink.

Yeah, that ice rink. The rink that my parents had rebuilt, and the rink that I worked at most nights. Built for prospective Olympians, and home to Olympians and current champions alike.

Future Olympians.

Fine specimens of human skaters.

(We’re very proud of our rink.)

“Anyway,” Chris went on, ignoring Georgi and me making faces at him. “At least we got a spread out of it. I’m going to be in the winter Target catalogue for the Kassell collection.”

“You’re just moving on up in the world,” I said, laying my head down on the desk. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I got the makeup lady to give me tips,” Chris said, and he was definitely smirking. Chris could charm the pants off anyone, he could sell ice to Eskimos. It only made sense for him to go into something like modeling. “There’s a trick to covering up bruises--”

“Hickies?” Georgi asked, only half-revolted. Not revolted enough. _Ugh._

“Yeah, you use yellow concealer.”

“Why would we need to know this?” I demanded, still facedown on the desk.

“In case we get hickies, _duh_ ,” Chris said.

I snorted. “That’s not a problem for me.”

“Oh come on, Dina can’t possibly object to you getting a boyfriend or something,” Georgi said.

I rolled my head on the desk and gave him a pointed glare.

Georgi wilted. “She would, wouldn’t she?”

“Yep.”

“ _Quel chienne_ ,” Chris said, and Georgi blinked at him.

I closed my eyes. “Yep.”

“In any case, if you _do_ finally meet up with your internet boyfriend and he gives you a little something to remember him by, I know how to cover it up now.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I said wearily. “God knows I can’t ever go up to him in-person. I don’t know who he is, and everyone knows better than to associate with _me_.”

“Literally no one likes your step-brothers,” Georgi grumbled.

“Are you _sure_ about that?” I made a face. “Because I’m pretty sure you don’t have to ass-kiss that hard if you don’t actually like the ass in question.”

Someone smacked the desk right next to my head and we all jumped, my eyes flying open as I scrambled back in my seat.

Mr. Richards glared at me. “No cursing in my classroom,” he snapped, jabbing a finger in my face. He pointed again, for emphasis, and then stalked off.

“Anyway,” I said, leaning forward onto the desk again and letting my head drop onto my folded arms. “You two hate the demon spawns because you see how they treat me. No one else does. End of story. Moving on.”

Chris and Georgi both gave me sour looks, which I ignored. I was right; the last time I’d said anything, back in middle school and right after Dad had died, I’d gotten dragged in front of the school counselor along with Dina and my step-brothers. The three of them had put on quite a show, and my middle school principal had scolded me for trying to make my stepfamily look awful.

And then, right after that, Dina had locked me in the backseat of her new Jag (that she’d bought with the payout from my dad’s life insurance) and looked me in the eye. “You know how horrible it is to be in a foster home?”

I’d shaken my head.

“Do you wanna find out?” She’d smiled as I shook my head again. “No? Then don’t cause trouble.”

That threat had resurfaced several times over the past few years that I’d lived with the three of them. One night, Dina randomly called me into the TV room and made me sit through a local NBC affiliate’s special investigation into the foster care system in Detroit, the nearest big city. It had been… a bit terrifying.

So yeah. I knew where my bread was buttered. Keep my mouth shut, play nice, and stay in a relatively nice home.

(In the basement.)

(Where the heat barely worked.)

I’d survive. And once I was eighteen, I would be getting out of there.

As I was mulling over joining the military or possibly a traveling circus, Georgi slipped something out of his messenger bag and poked me in the forehead with it.

I swatted it away. “What is that?”

“A flyer.”

“No duh, Captain Obvious. What’s it a flyer _of_?”

“That ice show is accepting entries now. You know the one.” Georgi waggled his eyebrows. “The Autumn Open.”

“Of course I know it,” I grumbled. “I’ll be working it.”

The Autumn Open was always held at the local ice rink, which happened to be my parents’ rink. It was literally the biggest event in town. Dina had been freaking out about it since March. Apparently there were going to be a bunch of talent-scouting coaches and potential sponsors in the audience.

However, we all knew why everyone was coming.

I sighed as I unfolded the flyer and was confronted by _his_ face; the resident Ice Prince of Perrault, Yuuri Katsuki. High school senior, future Olympian, and all-around _heartthrob_.

Oh be still, my little gay heart.

“It’ll be cool to see Yuuri’s new program in-person,” Chris said, his voice very careful and even.

I nodded and set the flyer aside. “Yep.”

“It would be even cooler to skate on the same ice as him,” Georgi added, and Chris threw an eraser at him. “What? It _would_ be!”

“It’s not going to happen,” I said dully. “I’m so out of practice--”

“We both know that’s bullsh--crap. Bullcrap.” Georgi snuck a look at Mr. Richards and leaned in. “Just like we both know you lock up the rink early so you can skate alone, with no one watching.”

I glared at him.

“Wait, seriously?” Chris stared at me. “You haven’t quit after all?”

“ _No_ ,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I haven’t skated in years. Dina threw out my old ones, and I outgrew them anyway.”

“He uses girl skates,” Georgi said. “I’ve seen them.”

“Georgi, shut up.”

“He skates all the time, he copies the step-monsters’ programs and makes them better. I’m telling you--”

The bell rang, signaling the end of homeroom, and I was up like a shot. When had Georgi seen me skate? I was always so careful…

My friends caught up to me, both grumpy that they’d had to run; I’d made it down two hallways and around two corners, heading for the gym locker rooms

“Vic, if you’re still skating, this changes everything. _How long?_ ” Chris demanded.

I sighed as we entered the noisy boys’ locker room. “I never stopped,” I admitted. “I would borrow rentals for a while, and then…”

“You got girl skates?” Georgi made a face that was a cross between _good thinking_ and _why tho_.

I shook my head. “No. I was cleaning out the basement and I found my dad’s safe. It was easy to crack the combination, it was my birthdate. And… I found Mom’s skates inside.”

Chris and Georgi both exchanged shocked looks. “They fit you?” Chris finally asked.

I nodded. “Like a glove. She was a weird size, which is helpful.”

“You fit your mom’s skates.” Georgi said flatly.

I rolled my eyes. “ _Yes_ , laugh it up. But they’re nice and professional and not a rental set.”

“Okay, so that’s the skates taken care of,” Chris said, and I fought the sudden urge to bang my head against my locker.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I have skates. Now, what _don’t_ I have?” I started ticking the list off on my fingers. “I don’t have: a routine. Music. A costume. Permission to enter. Money for the fee. Oh, gee, that’s literally everything else!”

“I can make you a costume,” Georgi said, raising his hand.

“I bet we could get music royalty-free on the Internet,” Chris added. “Or the library!”

“And listen, you could slap a routine together with your step-brothers’ rejects and turn it into an Olympic gold medal,” Georgi crossed his arms. “Don’t tell me you don’t have ideas.”

Of course I had ideas! But…

“I don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell, and you know it,” I said, finally getting my locker open.

“Well, not with that attitude,” Chris fluttered his eyelashes at me, and I rolled my eyes back at him.

“Look. If Dina even got a whiff of me trying to butt in on her precious sons’ _careers_ , she’d ship me off to an orphanage in Brazil or something.”

“You’re too old for that,” Georgi said. “Can’t you get declared legally emancipated?”

“I already checked on that,” I said. “I have to have a ton of legal stuff, and Dina has to provide stuff too.”

“Why wouldn’t she? She already whines all the money she refuses to spend on you.” Georgi was frowning as he moved to his locker and started fiddling with his lock.

“Yeah, but then she would look bad in the community,” I said.

Georgi muttered something dark in Russian.

“Well then, screw her!” Chris paused. “Well, you know what I mean,” he added as Georgi and I retched at him. “Seriously, she’s not going to let you do anything you want to do, so just do it and spite her.”

“I like having a roof over my head,” I said, slamming my locker shut and tugging my t-shirt over my head. “C’mon, passing period’s almost over.”

*

The gym classes were separated into grades, so Chris, Georgi, and I were all stuck running the track with the other freshmen. It was still late summer, so once the sun had risen, it was uncomfortably hot out. We all started sweating pretty quickly once we started running.

“Four laps is a mile!” Coach Spears yelled, and the jerk actually had dragged out a _lawn chair_ and was sitting in the middle of the track, watching us huff and puff around him. “I want you all to do at least two!”

“Fat loudmouth,” Georgi panted, dragging his feet. I had to run up behind him and give him a push.

Chris and I were in relatively good shape compared to Georgi, so we were both keeping a fairly even pace without winding ourselves. Georgi… well, the most activity he’d done in his life was dancing for the school production of _Footloose_ last year.

Out in the football fields, the sophomores were playing soccer. I could see Winston’s distinctive red hair from the track, thus I saw the moment when he tripped over the ball he was supposed to be dribbling. I didn’t bother hiding my grin.

The juniors’ fitness class was also using the track area, but they were doing stuff like shot-put and long jump over on the field area. Rupert was doing the long jump, and I saw him land a respectable distance from his starting point. Unlike Winston, he actually had a bit of grace on solid ground.

The seniors were still indoors, probably in the weight/cardio room. That meant that Yuuri was also there, in the air conditioning. I kind of envied him that. Still, I’d see him in the locker room if I finished my two miles fast enough…

(Maybe I wasn’t quite over my pathetic hero-worship crush on him after all.)

I heard Rupert’s crowd of admirers cheering him on as he went for the long jump again. A few of the girls actually swooned as he took off.

“I find it ironic,” Chris said as we slowed to a power-walk, so Georgi could catch up, “that Winston is the one who acts more metrosexual, but Rupert is the gay one.”

“Of course he gets all the girls’ attention,” Georgi grumbled, half-wheezing.

“Do you really want to date anyone that could be fooled by that face?” I asked, and picked up my pace. Georgi swore at me as Chris followed suit.

We managed to finish our two miles with less than ten minutes left in the period, and the coach let us run back into the locker room to shower. Georgi just slumped against the wall, gasping.

“Oh my god, you useless nerd,” I said, wrestling his shirt over his head and dragging him under the spray.

“ _Argh!_ Victor, my pants!”

“Should have been quicker,” Chris snickered.

Georgi was glaring at me and retreating from the showers, livelier than he’d been when we first stepped onto the track, when the seniors clamored into the locker room, each of them delightfully sweaty.

Chris and I were just finishing up, and we cleared out to give the seniors the space. Leo de la Iglesia and Phichit Chulanont were both laughing at something, but my eyes were immediately drawn to Yuuri Katsuki, top male skater in the country, hiding behind his towel.

And then Rupert popped up behind Leo and Phichit, blocking Yuuri from my view, and that was the bucket of cold water from reality that I needed. I went back to toweling my hair dry and slipping back into my regular clothes.

I could hear my step-brother’s voice from my locker bank, chattering about inane stuff and zooming from one subject to another - Yuuri either couldn’t get a word in or wasn’t even trying - and the nasal quality of his voice just grated on my nerves, so I tuned him out.

Chris was eyeing me as we grabbed our bags out of our lockers and shoved our gym clothes back in. “Seriously,” he said quietly. “You could smoke them all if you wanted.”

I froze.

I couldn’t lie, the idea was incredibly attractive. If Chris asked, I wouldn’t be able to deny that many of my dreams tended to take that route. But…

“It’s not realistic,” I said, and shut my locker.

*

I had a stash of trail mix in my locker for the days when I forgot to pack a lunch - like that morning, because I’d been rushing to get to school on time and it only hit me when I was grabbing my Earth Sciences textbook from my locker. I retreated outside to the outdoor lunch tables, where a few others were hanging out, and dug in my school bag for my cell phone.

When it got to the point that everyone had their own phone, and it became convenient for her, Dina went to the mall and came back with a Nokia for me. It was at least three years old, with no camera and a tiny screen with no color display, and was much bulkier than Winston and Rupert’s Razors. But it was a phone, and it was worth its weight in gold.

School rules dictated that phones and MP3 players could only be used in the cafeteria and outside in the quad, so no one looked oddly at me when I woke up my phone and checked my texts.

Of course, Dina had complained at me about how there were still leaves in the pool once she’d gotten home from whatever important errands she’d gone out to run. Probably getting her acrylics filled or something.

But then there was the other text waiting for me, and I couldn’t help the smile on my face as I opened it.

Dina didn’t check my phone at all - she was of the opinion that no one liked me enough to text me anyway - but even so I didn’t assign this particular number a name or anything. The person on the other end was… well, special. Because this person _did_ like me enough to text me.

 

_< unknown> I cant believe its still so warm out its almost sept_

_ <unknown> what r u up to?_

 

I munched on the trail mix as I responded: _just eating lunch. U?_

_ <unknown> lol of course _

_ <unknown> study hall _

_ <me> r u by a computer? _

_ <unknown> nope _

_ <me> aw too bad _

_ <unknown> y? _

_ <unknown> were u goin 2 send me something? :) _

_ <me> maybe _

_ <unknown> lol well ill look forward 2 it l8r _

_ <unknown> oh did u see? _

_ <me> ? _

_ <unknown> autumn open fliers _

_ <me> yea i saw _

_ <unknown> r u skating in it? _

 

I hesitated, trying to think of a response, when a shadow fell over my table.

I looked up at Winston, who was smirking at me. I slipped my phone back into my pocket and glared up at him. “What.”

“I see you managed to make first bell.” Winston snatched up my trail mix and stuck his hand in. My stomach grumbled. “Aww, you hungry?” my step-brother grinned and popped his handful into his mouth. “Hm, this stuff sucks.” He tossed the bag into the nearby trashcan. “You’re welcome.”

“What the hell, Winston?” I demanded, starting to stand, and he shoved my shoulder until I fell against the picnic bench again.

“I saved you the trouble of eating that crap,” he informed me. “Now, you can pay me back by starting on my English essay. But do a better job on it this time, my teachers keep telling me I don’t sound the same on tests.”

“Maybe you should try writing your own essays,” I suggested, raising an eyebrow.

Winston narrowed his eyes at me, and then looked up at someone behind me. “Hey, Rupe, Loser here won’t help me out with my English essay.”

“Wow, rude,” Rupert said, coming around into my view. He had a bunch of his admirers with him, and they were all eyeing me like I was something they scraped off the bottom of their shoes. Not for the first time, I wished that Chris and Georgi hadn’t take the electives that were only offered during my lunch period.

“You _know_ Win has trouble in English, Vic,” Rupert went on, and a few of the girls tittered and one of them patted Winston on the arm in sympathy. “School is hard on both of us, since we’re _competitive athletes_ and all.”

My eyes dropped to their shoes, and I bit my lip to keep from snapping at him. “Right.”

“It’s what family _does_ , Vic. We help each other out.”

“Right.”

“I _know_ you don’t get it, not having a real family of your own, but we _try_ , Vic.” Rupert’s voice took on the tone that it did when he was smiling in a way that appeared nice to everyone else that didn’t know him. Like, _really_ know him. “The least you can do is meet us in the middle.”

“Fine,” I muttered, and my stomach gave another grumble.

“Great!” Winston said cheerfully. “It’s on _The Great Gatsby_ , so I hope you’ve read it.”

I didn’t answer.

“Victor,” Rupert said, and I caught the warning tone in his voice.

“I can read it.”

“God, what a jerk,” one of the girls whispered.

“I’ll get with you after your shift at the Ice Castle,” Winston said, and I saw him turn on his heel. “Ladies,” he added, sounding like a suave fifth-grader. “Can I treat you to anything in the cafeteria?”

A few of the girls laughed, like they were indulging a cute puppy or something, and the group began to break up and drift apart.

I waited to be left alone, but Rupert sighed and took a seat next to me. I felt my skin crawl.

“I don’t appreciate this _attitude_ , Loser,” he said, punching me on the arm. It hurt.

“Sorry,” I said in as neutral a tone as I could manage.

“You’d better be. I’ll be telling Mom about this after school today, so.” Rupert punched me again, in the same spot, and then got up to walk away.

I waited until I was truly alone to break, tears springing to my eyes as I clutched my aching arm. _This is my life_ , I reminded myself. I was turning fifteen this year, another year closer to being a legal adult and being able to get out on my own. Maybe…

I checked to make sure that both of my step-brothers were gone, and I pulled my phone back out. I had another message.

 

_ <unknown> r u there? _

_ <me> yea still here...had smth 2 take care of _

_ <unknown> i hope it wasnt hard _

_ <me> nah, need to help sm1 with eng essay on grt gatsby _

_ <unknown> omg thats a good book i love it _

_ <unknown> let me kno if u need help 2? _

_ <me> :) ur the best _

_ <unknown> :) <3 _

I realized I was blushing at the little heart - _kiss? What if he was blowing me a kiss??_ \- as I said my goodbye for now and headed back in to the building for my next class.

 

I first met bravep0rk on a figure skating forum that I’d been browsing during a trip to the library. I’d gotten logged onto this forum and immediately zoomed in on the American division, Men’s Singles, and started chatting about the love of my athletic life. I called myself Vitya_Nikiforov - _Nikiforova_ had been my mother’s maiden name - and I’d immediately made friends with other American figure skating enthusiasts. We were few and far between, to be honest, but meeting people from Canada and Europe, where the sport was still pretty big, had been really cool.

In a thread dedicated to Yuuri Katsuki, I’d met bravep0rk and immediately figured out that he was a local. The way he talked about Ice Castle was a dead giveaway. I privately messaged him, and we went back and forth for months before I finally gave him my phone number, sick of having to wait until I could go to the library and get on a computer there. There was no way I could convince Dina to get me a computer of my own, and the library closed at seven every day. Plus, I wasn’t always able to go.

It was a huge relief to talk to bravep0rk about everything and anything - I kept details of my life vague, and so did he, but we both knew that we were both guys and that we both went to Tremaine High, and we both were into figure skating. As far as I could tell, he also had skating experience, but he never mentioned if he competed or not. He followed competitions closely, though. It was fun talking shop with him; he was also pretty knowledgeable about hockey as well.

I’d confessed that I wanted to get out on my own as soon as possible, and he’d admitted that he felt like he was under a lot of pressure from his family, especially his parents who were expecting him to follow them into the family business. We both tried to give each other advice as best as we could. I also knew that bravep0rk was a senior, and that he was already making plans to attend University of Michigan after graduation. _It’s close by,_ he said, _but I’ll be on my own anyway._

That was so cool. I wished I could just… but. No money. Anyway.

Most of our conversations veered away from skating, nowadays. It made me feel like we were getting closer, becoming real friends and not just internet friends. I wished I could meet bravep0rk in person, but…

But if he went to Tremaine, he probably knew my step-brothers. And, as demonstrated by the kids that my step-brothers tended to surround themselves with, he probably knew that I had a reputation as being the ungrateful bratty step-brother who had tried to get his new family investigated right after his father died. Winston and Rupert gleefully fed that reputation with backhanded compliments and disguised insults in front of their posse of hangers-on, and people I’d known since kindergarten eventually all stopped talking to me.

Well, everyone except Chris and Georgi, who had been my closest friends for almost a decade now. If they hadn’t stuck around… well, I don’t know what I’d’ve done.

The rest of the school day passed with relative ease, and then it was time for me to unchain my bike and start the trek across town to Ice Castle.

Ice Castle Perrault, lovingly restored by my parents to its former glory from the seventies, had been open for several hours at the point that I arrived. The first shift manager, Yuuko, had to leave to attend her evening classes, and she handed the keys over to me and took off as soon as I got in. The only people that I expected to show were the people who regularly booked the ice for private coaching, and there were only a handful of those, including my step-brothers and Yuuri.

I was surprised when I looked out onto the ice and saw a redheaded girl, maybe a little older than myself, skating gracefully near the center of the rink. She clearly had some training, but she didn’t have a coach with her as far as I could see. She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place where I’d seen her.

Eventually, Yuuri’s coach arrived, and she quickly cleared out. Good thing, too, because Yuuri’s coach was… a bit of a spitfire.

Yuri Plisetsky had been the Russian champion for nearly eight years, claiming the title at the tender age of seventeen and fiercely defending it even as he went through puberty. Eventually, he dominated the men’s division to the point that no new challengers could even come close to him, scooping up gold after gold in the Grand Prix, Nationals, Euros, Worlds, and even two Olympic golds. He was pretty impressive, to say the least. And to top it all off, he retired at the age of twenty-four, having gotten bored of his undisputed throne, and went into coaching after he got his accreditations for it. Then he’d skulked around Europe for a couple of years, and it was only after he saw Yuuri nearly bag bronze at Worlds two years ago that he decided to completely relocate and take over Yuuri’s coaching. The year Yuuri started training under him, Yuuri had snatched the gold at Worlds and become an immediate favorite for Olympic gold.

God, did he deserve it.

Yuri Plisetsky tended to drive him hard, but Yuuri never seemed to get snippy about it. I supposed it was probably for the best, considering that Plisetsky got him results.

Today, Yuuri’s choreographer also showed up, Yuuri in tow. Minako Okukawa was a longtime Katsuki family friend and world-famous ballerina, and she’d been choreographing Yuuri’s routines for years. She was also one of maybe two or three people besides Yuuri who was brave enough to call Plisetsky “Yurio”.

Anyone who did it pissed him off, regardless. It was usually fun to watch.

In any case, I had my tip jar out and the rink phone turned up, but no one was going to be coming in to rent skates anytime soon - even if they tried, I’d have to turn them away, since Plisetsky had reserved the ice for two hours this evening. I was doing my homework at the desk and watching Yuuri skate whenever he was in view.

Watching Yuuri skate was honestly the high point of my night, and it was a pleasant distraction from my surroundings…

Honestly, I used to associate pleasant memories with Ice Castle; my childhood had been spent in here, with my dad while he ran the place and occasionally got on the ice with his old hockey team. That had been the first time I’d seen competitive skaters in-person. Then, I’d spent a lot of time here doing my own figure skating as a novice, doing kiddie boot camp with imported graduates from the Skate Canada program.

After he died, all those happy memories came to an end. It was hard to come to terms with the fact that my figure skating future had been effectively annihilated. That I wouldn’t be skating competitively anymore. That it was just _too expensive_ to pay for training for _all three_ _of us_. Never mind that the boys never got past the local competitions, no, Dina had to focus on her children’s _Olympic Careers_.

_Gag._

This was no point of pride, having the Montgomery brothers calling Ice Castle their home rink. I used to laugh at seeing their gaudy-ass posters plastered all over the building, but now it was just depressing.

Dina was happy to drop literally thousands of dollars on trying to hype her kids, but it always brought me some bitter joy to see her come to terms with the fact that she had to promote the _real_ local stars alongside her skating gremlins.

The Katsuki siblings had just as many posters up on the walls as Rupert and Winston, but they were definitely a lot more welcome (and got a lot more attention) than my step-siblings’ posters. It helped that Mari Katsuki was an Olympic gold medalist and that Yuuri was almost certainly going to the next Winter Olympics in February.

Let’s be real here, Yuuri was definitely the best male singles skater in America. He could skate twizzles in a pizza costume and win a gold medal.

_In my heart._

_Stop thinking that, Victor._

Mari was cool and all, and she and the women’s hockey team were all freaking _badass_ , but I’m sorry. My little gay heart went pitter-patter at the thought of Yuuri Katsuki just existing. Have I mentioned that I really, _really_ like his skating? Loved it for _years_ , in fact.

Well, Plisetsky was definitely finding fault with it. He started yelling for Yuuri to stop and skated out to the center of the ice, and I lost track of him as he corrected Yuuri’s jump technique. I could definitely hear him, though, and between the heavy Russian accent and the echo in the rink I could barely make out what he was saying. Ms. Okukawa stayed at the boards, scribbling in her notebook.

The hours marched on. I had managed to finish my math homework and moved onto my history assignment - and was it just me, or did we never get further back past the colonization of America _ever_? What, was I going to need to take remedial world history at some point? Heck, was I going to need to take remedial _American_ history? We never got past World War II in class either - when the doors slid open. I looked up, ready to dismiss whoever was intruding on the private ice time, and internally winced hard enough break something when I caught sight of my stepfamily striding in like the owned the place.

(Well, okay. They did.)

Behind them, poor poor Celestino. The Italian coach looked like he’d aged at least a decade in the four years that he’d been coaching the two terrors. The way my step-brothers tended to be would probably break any coach’s spirit. I wondered who they’d roped into choreographing for them this season - those people never lasted longer than a year, or even long enough to enter the competitive season at all.

“Victor!” Dina snapped, zeroing in on me. “Are you _distracted?!_ ”

“Not at all,” I said, sounding as neutral as I could. Behind Dina, Rupert and Winston were grinning like they’d gotten front-row tickets to a rodeo. Or a circus.

_If the shoe fits…_

“Put that away, it’s unprofessional,” Dina said, waving her hand at me. _See you managed to get that manicure after all, Stepmom._ “You can do that after you finish your work at home.”

I silently put away my books and then leaned my forearms on the counter, since there was nothing else to really do.

“Stop slouching,” Dina ordered. “ _Professional_ , Victor.”

I stood up straight and took my arms off the counter, and she nodded curtly.

Celestino looked at me, his face unreadable. I hadn’t really interacted with him much back when I’d been skating, but he had been around when Dina had forcibly ended my contract with my old coach and then driven the poor man out of town with his reputation in tatters. While I found Celestino to be a bit too safe in his style of coaching, he was still fairly decent, and didn’t deserve having his professional name ruined.

_Ugh, rich people._

Celestino had been nice-ish to me, at least in a cordial way, ever since I’d officially quit skating. He wasn’t the bad guy in all of this. If anything, he was another victim.

Winston was lounging in the bench area, his skate bag on the floor next to him, and he had his phone out. If there was anyone out there worse with women than Georgi, it was Winston. He considered himself a total ladies’ man, but his voice had yet to drop and he still looked like a twelve-year-old. Sometimes, when I was really depressed at night, I thought about that and gave myself a good chuckle.

He was technically in the grade ahead of me (and I was the only reason he hadn’t been held back in the last couple of years; this wasn’t the first time that Winston had forced me to write an essay for him) but in reality he was only a few months older than me - he’d squeaked in right before the cutoff for preschool, with a birthday in August. My birthday was in December, meaning my dad had had to wait another year before enrolling me.

Technical details, you know? Except that he held it over my head like nobody’s business.

But, really, I should be kinder to him. Technical scores were where he got tripped up the most.

Rupert, on the other hand…

Rupert was a spring baby, and clearly Dina’s pride and joy. He was _very_ serious about his skating career, and it showed in everything: from his clinical precision on the ice, his distressingly ambitious choreography, and the way he interacted with his fellow skaters down to the predatory way his eyes locked on Yuuri through the glass window that separated the warmer lobby from the actual rink.

If _I_ tried to bring a boyfriend home, there would be swift and immediate consequences. If Rupert managed to snag some nice young man - say, Yuuri Katsuki - as a boyfriend, Dina would throw a Pride parade in the middle of Halloween season.

Even if Yuuri didn’t know I existed, I felt an almost childish desire to protect him from my stepfamily. He seemed like a nice enough guy, he really didn’t deserve whatever hell they would manage to unleash on him should he get snagged into their… _messy_ world.

Ms. Okukawa caught sight of my stepfamily in the lobby, and she snagged Plisetsky’s attention. I was incredibly fortunate to have full view of the young coach’s face when it collapsed into the most cartoonish grimace that I had ever seen on a real person’s face. It was glorious.

He yelled for Yuuri to wrap up whatever he was doing, and Yuuri skated to the opening and climbed off the ice, reaching for his skate guards that Ms. Okukawa was holding out for him. If I wasn’t mistaken, I caught a full-body shudder when he saw my step-brothers watching him from the window. _Poor guy_. It must have felt like being a gazelle on the serengeti, being stalked by some hyenas.

Yuuri, Plisetski, and Ms. Okukawa quickly exited the rink area, and Yuuri broke a speed record in unlacing his skates and switching them out for his street shoes. He then proceeded to thoroughly ignore my step-brothers’ attempts to get his attention by pulling out his phone and keeping his entire focus trained on it, linking arms with his choreographer as they walked out. Plisetsky eyed my stepfamily with utter distaste as he followed his athlete outside, his chin thrust out like he’d been personally insulted.

Well, knowing Dina, that was actually a very real possibility.

“Oh, good, they’re finally cleared out,” Dina said airily. “Let’s get started, boys, Mama’s got beauty sleep to catch up on.”

 _Hah. More like Magnum P.I. reruns._ I stayed silently behind the counter as the boys got laced up and headed into the rink, Celestino sighing and following along behind them with a slump in his shoulders.

Once on the ice, Winston demanded to be allowed to do more advanced jumps, which Celestino vetoed right away. Their voices drifted out to me, and I was torn - yeah, Winston doing any jumps was a terrible idea; seven years or so of skating and he was still as uncoordinated as a newborn fawn… but on the other hand, watching him wipe out all night would have been _hilarious_. Rupert clearly had the same idea - which made me feel like crap, _great_ \- and jeered his brother from the boards. Their mother just stood there, watching like a hawk, drumming those manicured fingers on the boards.

Celestino managed to talk Winston down from attempting a triple axel in their established program, which was only half of a shame, and set him off on his run-through for the Autumn Open. Dina obligingly pulled out the boom box and hit _play_ on the music, which for some reason was Vivaldi’s _Four Seasons: Spring_.

I wished I could see it. Winston was… _oh god,_ Winston was a terrible skater. There’s no better way to put it. He had very little flexibility, terrible technique for jumps, and absolutely no sense of rhythm or timing. His routines, no matter how meticulously choreographed they were or how good the actual choreographer was, were always a trainwreck to behold. He fell, stepped out of jumps and spins, tipped over, ran into the boards, and straight up tripped on the ice all the time. You never knew what you were going to get.

After an hour and a half of that, it was time for Rupert to swap in. Winston came out into the lobby to change into his street shoes again and snack on a granola bar, and he looked at me and barked, “elbows off the counter, Loser!”

I glared at him, but stepped back away from the counter so that he couldn’t find fault with me again. My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I had to wait until Winston either cleared out or was thoroughly distracted before I could check it.

Out by the ice, Dina had gotten more vocal once Rupert had gotten started with his warm-ups. She was arguing with Celestino about step sequences and jump combinations, pushing for something flashier and more complicated. Rupert skated along and did a clean triple toe while his mother bickered with his coach.

Celestino pulled away from his argument with Dina to bark out a warning not to jump without permission, and Rupert sneered at him. Dina snapped at the coach, and I caught “if he can land it, you have no room to complain!”

Well, if Dina was angling for finding a new coach at the Autumn Open, I don’t think Celestino would be terribly sad to see this particular clientele go. Maybe he’d finally be free and go to Canada, where they took skating seriously. Maybe he’d be able to find someone willing to compensate him for what he was worth, and take his coaching seriously.

Winston wandered out of the lobby to go raid the vending machine, and I took the opportunity to pull my cell phone out and check the text from bravep0rk.

 

_ <unknown> can u talk?_

I looked up to make sure no one was looking at me; Winston was still gone, and Dina was still arguing with Celestino. Just to be safe, though, I backed into the storage area for the rental skates and pretended to be cleaning them.

 

_ <me> yea wats up? _

_ <unknown> did i make u mad earlier? _

_ <me> wat no of course not _

_ <unknown> u stopped talking 2 me wen i asked abt autumn open _

_ <me> yea i wasnt kidding when i said i needed 2 help sum1 _

_ <me> my friends are trying 2 get me 2 enter the open yea _

_ <me> but i dont think i will _

_ <unknown> noooo y not?? _

_ <me> i dont think i can? i mean its not worth it _

_ <me> i havent skated 4 real in years _

_ <unknown> but you can land triples tho _

_ <me> yea in practice _

_ <unknown> ok tbh its not just that i want u 2 get out there and be seen _

_ <unknown> i rly want 2 see u skate _

 

I froze.

 

_ <me> rly? _

_ <unknown> i kno u love skating _

_ <unknown> its in every word i read of urs _

_ <unknown> and i rly rly want 2 watch u _

_ <unknown> and meet u _

_ <me> what if ur disappointed? _

_ <unknown> how can i be? ur vitya _

_ <unknown> ur my friend _

_ <unknown> ur the only 1 ive told about my fears n feelings _

_ <unknown> i trust u. im worried ur goin 2 b the 1 disappointed _

_ <me> omg i might b crying _

_ <unknown> oh no im so sry _

_ <me> its ok happy tears _

_ <me> let me think about the autumn op pls? _

_ <unknown> ok :) _

_ <unknown> i believ in u <3 _

_ <me> :) _

 

I heard Dina’s footsteps in the lobby, and I quickly stowed my phone back in my pocket and pushed the skates I’d been fiddling with back into their compartment.

“What are you doing?” Dina demanded, squinting at me.

 _Wrinkles_ , I thought, zeroing in on the crows’ feet at the corners of her eyes. I kept my face blank though. “Cleaning.”

“See, this is why you shouldn’t bring your crap with you to work,” Dina said, pointing at my book bag. “If you hadn’t been distracted, you would have gotten your cleaning done earlier.”

I bit back the response at the tip of my tongue and stayed quiet.

Dina made a huffy noise and stomped out of the lobby, probably to light up a smoke for her _nerves_ in the parking lot.

Winston came back into the lobby and looked out the doors at his mother. “What’d you do to get Mom mad?”

I shrugged, and Winston rolled his eyes and sat down on the bench again, playing with his phone once more.

Another few minutes passed in relative silence as I paced behind the counter and Winston ignored me. Eventually, Dina came back in, the smell of cigarette smoke following her.

“Good Lord, are you seriously trying to piss me off?” she snapped, glaring at me. “Start cleaning up while there’s no one here! Do you _want_ to stay late? I’m not paying you extra!”

 _You’re not paying me at all,_ I thought as I fought the urge to glare back at her. I made to go to the maintenance closet for the bathroom supplies, and Dina screeched.

“Don’t leave the desk unmanned!”

With my back safely turned to her, I indulged in rolling my eyes. “Fine,” I said, grabbing the window cleaner and a squeegee.

“Don’t you _dare_ give me attitude,” Dina hissed. “I give you a roof over your head and the clothes on your _back_.”

“Right,” I said blandly.

Dina narrowed her eyes at me, and then stalked back into the rink to continue arguing with Celestino. Winston smirked at me, and I resisted the urge to spritz him in the face.

Instead, I started cleaning the entrance to the building, and that didn’t take me all too much time. I was starting to get my growth spurt, and that helped me get the top of the door. I moved onto the windows in the lobby, washing off the fingerprints and noseprints from the day. Now, I had full view of the ice, and of Rupert running through his routine.

If Winston was a disaster on two blades, Rupert was the opposite. Even I could admit that my older step-brother had skill, and even a bit of talent. The problem was, he had _absolutely no taste whatsoever_. His performance was smug as all hell, and while he acted the straight gay on solid ground, he really let his inner flamboyant off the chain when it came to his skating and costumes. It was… not tasteful in the least. Almost embarrassing to look at.

I mean, seriously. Subtlety was a long-lost art. Even I wouldn’t entertain the concept of actually wearing straight-up bondage gear on the ice. _Inspiration_ maybe. But… ugh.

I could hear strains of the music through the glass - it sounded like something much more maudlin than freaking Vivaldi, at least - and Rupert couldn’t even match the mood of what sounded like a tango. But, he was on the beat and pulling off the jump combinations with consistent success, so at least his technical score would reflect that if he were to take that routine to competition. I couldn’t see it making it to regionals, much less the Junior Grand Prix, but at least it was a credit to Celestino’s coaching; Rupert had been about as bad as Winston back when he’d first started.

The clock in the lobby read 8:12 when Rupert finally exited the ice and slapped his skate guards on. Dina led the way out of the rink, wrapped in her cashmere shawl and a frosty silence towards Celestino, and the coach himself took his opportunity to split while Rupert was taking off his skates. He nodded goodnight to me and fled into the twilight.

“Resurface the ice before you leave,” Dina ordered. “And lock up if you have to desert the desk. I don’t need thieves stealing from us.”

“Okay,” I said, heading into the rink proper to squeegee the other side of the windows.

While Dina wasn’t looking, Winston licked his palm and laid it flat against the glass, smearing it all across the pane. I narrowed my eyes at him, but he quickly wiped his hand on his pants and then called to his mother, who stomped over and glared at me. She pointed furiously to the handprint and made a very rude gesture.

I sighed and picked up my cleaning supplies so I could fix it, just to shut her up.

“I can’t believe that you aren’t capable of doing even the most basic chores,” Dina said as I wiped at Winston’s handprint with a rag. “What do I even keep you around for? Unbelievable.”

I imagined shaving her bald while she slept, and pictured her with a terrible wig. That made me feel better.

Once I’d finished cleaning up Winston’s contribution to my chores, I did the whole interior of the windows again just to waste time. Eventually, my stepfamily got bored of watching me clean and took their leave. I was finally alone in the entire building.

I finished my chores very quickly after that, locking up the front doors so I could scrub inside the bathrooms and the other common areas. Then, it was time for me to get on the zamboni.

But first…

I retrieved my mother’s pearly-white skates, hidden in the cleaning supply closet in a box of plumbing gear. I’d been saving up for a while to get them sharpened, and soon I’d have enough to afford it. Even so, I changed into them and skated out to center ice.

Most of the rink’s lights were turned off, and it was dead quiet. I hummed the melody to Rupert’s skate music, and pushed off.

It wasn’t difficult for me to recall the step sequences that Celestino had been trying and failing to teach to Winston, and it was certainly easy to perform them myself. I changed up the rhythm and instead of going for the double loop, I marked my jump. I wasn’t an idiot, I knew I could hurt myself, but still.

I goofed around on the ice for a long while, running through first Winston’s routine, and then Rupert’s, all the while marking each jump instead of going for it. I checked the clock on the hockey scoreboard overhead and winced when I saw it was almost time to close up for real.

I was about to head back to the boards and finish up for the night, but then bravep0rk’s words flashed through my mind.

_I really want to see you skate._

I went for it.

Rupert’s triple toe was impressive, sure, but for someone who had never been in a harness and had taught himself jumps without a coach, I’d like to think mine was pretty good as well.

I landed it cleanly, but I was also hyper-aware that I really shouldn’t be jumping with blades as dull as mine were. With that in mind, I slid my guards on and slipped the skates off, hiding them back in their spot in the supply closet.

I resurfaced the ice right away after that, and finished cleaning. Then, I made sure the register was all set for tomorrow’s opener to take care of - Dina didn’t trust me with the register counts - and tallied up my tips for the day. I carefully wrapped up my personal “earnings” and hid them in the lining of my school bag, doing the mental math. It would take me another few days like this one, but I’d be able to get my skates sharpened in another week or so.

 _I really want to see you skate_.

Was bravep0rk entering the Autumn Open? Would I get to see him take the ice? I… I really wanted that. I really, _really_ wanted that.

The thought of Dina’s face if I tried to enter, though… yeah. That… that was something I’d have to work around.

Oh my god. I was really doing it, wasn’t I?

I finished up closing the rink and grabbed my book bag, hopping on my bike for the trek home. The night air had some bite to it, but I felt warm from the top of my head to the tips of my fingers. Once home, I showered in the downstairs bathroom and headed down to the basement to finish the laundry before I could do the rest of my homework. My online friend’s words made me feel like everything was lighter, brighter, and even a little sweeter.

As I settled into bed for the night, the sound of Winston sneaking into the kitchen for a midnight snack squeaking overhead, I pictured finally meeting the guy who, if I were going to be honest, I might have been falling a little in love with.

 _I guess I’m doing this_ , I decided as I drifted off to sleep.

 

_ <me> thanks 4 believing in me. im entering._

_ <me> see u at the autumn open :)_

 

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dina Montgomery was modeled off of the character [Elise from _After The Ball_ , played by Lauren Holly.](https://i.imgur.com/5vlmCQX.jpg)


	3. All The Skaters In The Land

“Let’s do this.”

Chris and Georgi blinked at me. “Do what?” Chris asked, making a face.

“The Autumn Open.”

“ _Yes,_ ” Georgi hissed, slamming his fist down on the desk.

Chris narrowed his eyes at me. “What changed your mind?”

I shrugged. “I… someone wants to see me skate. So…”

“Your internet boyfriend?” Chris pressed. Georgi clapped a hand over his mouth when I didn’t answer.

“Look,” I finally said. “Does it matter why? I’m going to do it. I already have an idea of choreography. The only problem is that Dina will flip when I show up for the ice show.”

“Oh, I already figured that out,” Georgi said, grinning. “Have you ever worn a wig before?”

Chris actually giggled.

“I have not,” I said, grimacing. “Is it going to be itchy?”

“Nah, I’ve got a great wig cap.” Georgi flapped a hand. “I can make it look natural, too.”

“You thinking darker? Maybe black?” Chris tapped his chin. “That means we’ll have to darken your eyebrows…”

“Temporarily,” I interjected. “I need to be able to wash it all off.”

“Right.” Chris nodded. “Because Dina can’t know.”

“Yeah, I literally just said.”

“I have another idea for disguise, too,” Chris said. “I’ll test it out on you in advance.”

“Cool,” I said. “Just don’t make me look like a rodeo clown.”

Chris smirked, and I was reminded of the Cheshire Cat. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I know what to do.”

I impulsively crossed myself.

Chris laughed at me, the jerk, as Georgi threw a sketchpad down on the desk in front of me. “What are you thinking for the costume?” he asked, twirling a pencil. “Hit me.”

“Hm.” I tapped my finger to my lips, mentally sorting through the various costumes of Yuuri’s that I’d really liked over the years - looking to my step-brothers for inspiration was an exercise in futility. “Something refined.”

“How about you tell me what you’re shooting for?” Georgi said as Chris scooted a little so he could look at the sketchpad.

“The opposite of Rupert,” I said flatly.

“Well, duh,” Chris muttered.

“With your eyes and coloring, even with the hair change, maybe we stay in the cool color tones,” Georgi said, scribbling notes on the side. He quickly sketched in a rough, vaguely-me-shaped figure. “Don’t expect anything incredibly professional, okay? This is pretty short notice, and I’m going to be working with what I can get from, like, fabric stores.”

“Where do you think Johnny Weir’s designers get their stuff?” I quipped.

Chris and Georgi both gave me weird looks. “Johnny who?” Chris raised an eyebrow.

“It wouldn’t hurt to find out who Yuuri’s biggest competitors are, you know,” I said, rolling my eyes. “It’s not like our town is known for our ice rink or anything.”

“What do skaters typically get their costumes made out of?” Georgi chewed on the eraser of his mechanical pencil. “Spandex?”

“Some of them.”

Georgi pursed his lips. “I should research this. I may not be able to do anything too complicated but I’m not going to half-a--” he stopped and glanced at Mr. Richards. “Half… heart… it.”

“I can borrow some makeup from my cousin,” Chris added. “She’s got the good stuff. I can make you look less pale and washed-out.”

I made a face at him. “I’m not washed-out.”

“You kind of are. Oh,” Chris snapped his fingers. “You’re also too skinny. We’ve got to bulk you up--”

“No, seriously.”

“Yes, seriously,” Chris interrupted me. “Victor, you’re underweight. I’m willing to bet you’ll skate better if you eat better.”

“I don’t want you guys to pity-feed me,” I grumbled.

“This isn’t pity, you idiot,” Chris said. “This is for your health and stuff. Seriously. I work with a dietician to make sure I’m healthy. My mom has pulled me out of shoots where the art directors have instructed me to lose weight. Seriously, there is such a thing as too skinny, and you’re it.”

“I can buy an extra sandwich every day,” Georgi offered.

“Yeah, I can too--”

“Don’t spend your money on me,” I insisted, only half-ashamed when tears sprang into my eyes.

“With all due respect,” Georgi said, patting my arm affectionately. “Victor. Shut up. We’re both doing stuff we love, you deserve to be doing that too.”

Oh, great. A lump in my throat. I buried my face in my hands. “I don’t know how to repay you guys--”

“Uh,” Chris snorted. “I’m sure when you’re rich and famous, I’ll be able to call in a favor or two and be satisfied. I promise not to use it for evil.”

“Wear my designs when you’re skating and namedrop me at competitions,” Georgi added, fluttering his eyes at me.

“Yeah, like I’ll ever compete or be famous. Come on--”

“Not with _that_ attitude,” Georgi quipped.

I rolled my eyes. “Stop that. Seriously. All I want is to skate this ice show, and then that’s it. I don’t need anything else.”

“And what about Pork Boy?” Chris asked.

“ _Bravep0rk_ ,” I corrected him. “And… I guess I meet him in disguise, as someone other than Victor Montgomery. That way, everything works out--”

“Wait, you’re going to tell him your real name, right?” Georgi said, his eyebrows drawing together.

“No,” I said immediately. “No. Victor Montgomery is the ungrateful orphan who tried to get his stepfamily in trouble right after his father died. Vitya Nikiforov is… Vitya Nikiforov is better. I want to be that person, just for one night.”

“A real Cinderella story,” Chris muttered. “Except no chance of a glass slipper, huh?”

“Real life doesn’t work out like fairy tales do,” I said. “I know that, and I know it sucks. Look, all I want to do is _meet_ him, okay? Meet bravep0rk and skate freely, just for one day. I’m not asking for more than that.”

Georgi looked ready to argue, but the bell cut him off, and he sulked as we all headed off to P.E.

Later on, in our study hall, he slid his sketchpad to me. The words _ideas & inspirations_ had been scribbled on the side, and he gave me a significant look. I nodded and quickly scribbled down some of the concepts I had been poking in my head for a while.

Georgi raised his eyebrows as he scanned my list. “ _Classical Eros?_ ” he mouthed, his face twisted in confusion.

I grabbed the pad back and scribbled “music - Spanish guitar?”

Georgi’s eyes widened and his expression cleared, and he nodded in understanding. He started sketching as soon as he had the pad in front of him again, and I went back to my assigned reading for my history class.

By the end of the day, as we all met up again by my locker, he presented a fairly well-rendered sketch of what looked like a Spanish bullfighter’s costume, or something heavily inspired by such an outfit. I made a face at it. “A jacket? That might be too complicated.”

Georgi frowned. “Wh-- maybe. I can still try it--”

“Georgi. Something simple will be fine.” I didn’t need him running himself into the wall over what was basically an exhibition skate.

Georgi scowled and shrugged. “I have drama club tonight, I’ll work on it later.”

“See if anyone in the club has ideas?” I suggested.

He nodded and peeled off to head towards the fine arts wing.

“I was thinking something more romantic, like Romeo sleeves?” Chris said.

I shrugged. “Text him. I need to go to the rink and relieve whoever was scheduled before me.”

Chris made a face at me, but let me finish packing my bag and run out the door.

Yuuko wasn’t the shift manager that day, her boyfriend Nishigori was instead. He stayed a little later than Yuuko did, and greeted Yuuri when he showed up for his private ice time. I was taking the opportunity to tackle the ladies’ restroom while no one was there (for some reason, it was always super gross in the ladies’ room after public skate) but they were still there talking when I returned from cleaning. I checked my hiding place for my mom’s skates - still secure, since I was the only one willing to mess with the plumbing during the weird unfreezing time in the early spring - and then headed back out to the lobby.

“Ah, Vic, thanks,” Nishigori said, nodding to me. “I didn’t have the chance to do a check on that.”

I shrugged and ducked into the alcove where we kept all the rentals. Sneaking a look at my phone revealed that bravep0rk had texted me right after school ( _yay! Im so excited!!_ ) and that Dina needed me to take some of her clothes to the dry-cleaners tomorrow. I shoved my phone back into my jeans pocket and got a head-start on spraying the sanitizer into the rental boots. The ones that needed sharpening had been marked with some blue painter’s tape, and I pulled those out of their slots and lined them up by the wall, to bring over to the pro shop across the lobby. The pro shop tended to close around the time that my step-brothers were scheduled to their private ice time, so I carried the dull rentals over to the shop and left them with the manager to get to after he’d finished the rush orders of the day.

Plisetsky arrived, and I heard him mutter something about sponsors and what sounded like “Mizuno” as Yuuri laced up to get out onto the ice.

“Oh. Shit--” Nishigori grabbed me. “Vic, I’m so sorry, I need to resurface the ice.”

“Do you need me to watch the counter?” I asked, eyeing the rink.

“I-- wait.” Nishigori winced. “I promised Dina I’d do some book balancing before I left for the night.”

“I can resurface the ice,” I said. “Do what you have to.”

“Thanks, you’re a real champ.” Nishigori patted my shoulder, and I headed over to where we kept the zamboni to get it revved up. I heard Nishigori telling Yuuri to hold on a second, and Plisetsky bitched at him as the door swung shut behind me.

It took me about fifteen minutes to resurface the ice, and once I’d parked the zamboni again, I made my way back to the lobby. Yuuri was waiting at the boards for the ice to freeze over again, and Plisetsky was off somewhere. Probably chewing someone else out for something.

“Thanks,” Yuuri said softly, and he hadn’t taken his glasses off yet. They made his big brown eyes seem even bigger.

_Shut up, brain._

I just nodded, not trusting my voice. Yuuri Katsuki was _really absurdly pretty_. Always had been, really, I’d only really started _noticing_ recently.

Plisetsky stormed back in, wearing his skates, and shooed Yuuri out onto the ice as I ducked back into the lobby.

“Victor, you are such a lifesaver,” Nishigori said as he furiously scribbled on the notepad we usually kept with the lockbox. Then: “ _Jeez_ -us, where did all that money go?”

“Dina,” I said flatly, and Nishigori grimaced.

“What does she think happens if we run out of money to actually run this place?” he grumbled.

I shrugged and sidled around the counter. “Anything else you need done?”

“Honestly? Nope, the place is clean enough for now, and now that Yuuri’s on the ice I don’t think anyone’s going to be popping in.”

I dug around in my bag and pulled out the sandwich that Chris had pressed into my hands after school. “Mind if I…?”

Nishigori shook his head. “God, I never see you eating. Go ahead, I’ll bet you’re starving.”

The sandwich was a bit soggy when I bit into it, but it was better than the stale Chex Mix that I usually had to stick to after school. I settled behind the counter with my sandwich and my English reading assignment. If I finished these chapters of _To Kill A Mockingbird_ then I could chip away at my French homework before Dina and the gremlins arrived.

 

I was halfway through my French homework when I heard the distinctive sound of Dina’s car pulling into the parking lot. I sighed and shut my textbook, stowing it and my notebook back in my school bag, then squinted at the clock. _Wait, they’re **early**_ …

Celestino was not with the three of them as Dina strode in, her arms loaded down with… _oh hell, new posters_. She dumped them on the desk in front of me and gave me a _look_. “Time for an update to our decor,” she said, sweeping her arm dramatically. “Put these up, Victor.”

“Okay,” I said, fighting down a groan.

There were twelve new posters, all different, explaining why Nishigori’s count of the lockbox was so short. Dina plunked herself down on one of the benches in the lobby and watched me like a hawk as I took down the old posters of my step-brothers and replaced them with the ones she’d just had done. She stopped me a few times to switch the arrangement, but mostly just let me work.

Rupert was back at his usual post by the window, watching Yuuri skating with a wolfish look on his face. Winston disappeared into the hallway where the the vending machines were and returned with a bag of Cheetohs.

“Ah!” Dina snapped her fingers at her youngest son. “That’s not in your diet!”

“ _Mom_ ,” Winston whined.

“Do you want to be bulging out of your costume?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “The _brand-new one_ that was _so very expensive to commission_?”

Winston made a face, but dropped the unopened bag into the trash. _How wasteful_.

After a bit longer, during which Winston joined his brother in watching Yuuri from the window and Dina took another phone call - it was about sponsorships, and it did not look like it was going well - Celestino finally showed up, seeming surprised that they’d all beaten him in.

“Ah, you’ve updated the posters,” he said tiredly, looking at the butt-ugly Photoshop job on Winston’s closest one.

“Well, of course I did! The Katsukis updated _theirs_ …”

Celestino wisely did not respond to this. He nodded at me and then headed into the rink, and I saw Plisetsky look up with an annoyed expression. Celestino reached the other coach and said something in his ear, and Plisetsky’s scowl deepened, but then the Russian nodded.

I frowned, overcome with curiosity.

Celestino emerged from the rink and he had a bland smile on his face. “All right, boys,” he said. “We’ve spent a lot of time working on your routines but we’ve let your conditioning routines slack off. We’re going to be working on cardio today, no ice time needed.”

“ _What?!_ ” both of my step-brothers yelped, looking scandalized.

Dina also looked a bit angry. “Coach, what do you mean by this?” she demanded.

“I noticed that both boys seemed a little winded after their run-throughs yesterday, and we can’t have them getting tired in the middle of their short programs. Their performances would suffer. I’ve let Coach Plisetsky know that we won’t be using the ice today, I’m going to take you all across the street to the gym and the boys are going to get on the stationary bikes instead.”

Dina immediately straightened her back at “their performances would suffer” and nodded in agreement. “I understand.”

“How come Katsuki never gets his ice time taken away for cardio?” Winston whined.

“Well, he’s one of the top skaters in the senior men’s division,” Celestino said, shepherding them out. “He probably does cardio on his own without complaining.”

I smothered a laugh and finished hanging up the last of the posters. Dina stopped before she made it out the door and doubled back over to me. “Make sure you get the bathrooms cleaned before you leave,” she said, pointing right in my face. “I’ve had _complaints_.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her face flinched at the word “ma’am” and I saw her checking her forehead for creases as she left. Once she was safely out, I let myself snort. Then, making sure no one was looking, I fished Winston’s abandoned Cheetohs out of the trash and tossed them on top of my bag. I was going to be getting hungry later, and I hadn’t had crappy snack food in so long…

Plisetsky stepped back into the lobby, still in his skates, and froze as he noticed the new posters. “Disgusting,” he muttered in his accent. “Absolutely no class.”

I shrugged.

He rolled his eyes at me and finally flicked his phone open to answer a call. “This is Yuri,” he said, turning away. “Yes, thank you for getting back to me.” The word _finally_ hung unspoken in the air. “We would love to discuss a possible sponsorship for Yuuri Katsuki, I’d be happy to relay anything you tell me to his parents.”

Was this the Mizuno rep that Plisetsky had been trying to call earlier? _Wow_ , that was kind of cool! I didn’t know Mizuno was willing to sponsor ice skaters… but it probably helped that Yuuri’s family was Japanese, too. Yuuri was popular in Japan, even though he and his sister had been born here.

I pushed it out of my mind - it was none of my business - and grabbed the broom and dustpan. The lockbox was secure under the counter, and there was absolutely nothing of any real value out in the open in the lobby, no matter how highly Dina valued those gaudy posters, so I headed into the rink to start sweeping up while it was quiet and there were no other appointments expected.

The music for Yuuri’s program was still playing, and he was definitely marking his jumps - he tended to have trouble with his jumps, but his step sequences were _absolutely divine_ \- while his coach was occupied. One time, I’d heard someone mention that Yuuri might be working multiple quad jumps into his programs. That was… really cool. I mentioned it on the forum once, and everyone had gotten really excited. There weren’t a lot of guys Yuuri’s age doing a lot of quads yet, only some of the older guys who had been skating a long while.

I realized the sound of blades on ice had stopped, and I looked up to see Yuuri just standing at center ice, looking frustrated. He skated over to where the boombox was stationed and hit the _pause_ button, then grabbed his water bottle.

I frowned and leaned the broom against the wall. It wasn’t my place, but…

“Is something wrong?” I asked, making my way over to where Yuuri was taking a break.

He shook his head slowly, then thought better of it and nodded. “This is supposed to be… different. Different to how I’m doing it,” he admitted. “I’m doing it wrong.”

“That’s silly,” I said without thinking. “You can’t _possibly_ do it wrong.”

Yuuri snorted. “Trust me, I can. Yurio’s been stopping me all afternoon and having me restart the program. I’m not pulling off the right emotion.”

I was about to respond when Plisetsky came back in. “Why did you stop?” he demanded.

“I’m having trouble,” Yuuri said.

“Yeah, no shit. I told you, Katsudon, _peacock_ at me.”

Yuuri blushed hard enough that I worried he’d fall over, but he was able to make his way back to center ice.

I stepped away and went back to my sweeping as Plisetsky rejoined his skater on the ice, talking at just the right volume that I could hear it without it echoing too badly. “Okay, you know how tropical birds are, right? You’re a tropical bird trying to impress your mate, Katsudon. Be flashy!”

“But I’m not flashy!”

“This isn’t about whether or not _Yuuri Katsuki_ is flashy, you dummy. This is about the most handsome man in town setting his sights on the most beautiful woman and seducing her. You can do that, I know you can!”

“That’s… I’m not like that--!”

“Just _try_. Peacock for me, like that stupid Montgomery boy.”

Yuuri actually laughed, and so did I; I knew exactly who Plisetsky meant.

“Coach, I want to retain a little of my dignity.”

“Oh, come on,” Plisetsky said. “There is no way on Earth you could possibly make more of a fool of yourself than those two idiot boys.”

“Well, when you put it _that_ way…”

“Just borrow some of that dumbass’s swagger, just a little of his attitude, and you’ll get it.”

There was the chiming of a cell phone, and Plisetsky actually growled as he skated to the boards again to answer it. “Hello? _No_ , I am-- what? _What?!_ ” He slapped his skate guards back on and disappeared into the lobby again to keep ranting at whatever poor soul had broken the bad news to him on the phone.

Yuuri sighed and started skating aimless figure-eights, and I had a sudden thought.

“Skate it from a different point of view!” I called, and he looked up in surprise.

“What?”

“If you can’t pull off being the handsome man, try being a different character? Like, maybe you’re mocking the man…” I realized just how stupid that sounded. “You know what, nevermind,” I said, ducking my head and sweeping the crap on the floor into my dustpan.

Yuuri was silent, and I dumped out my dustpan and retreated into the lobby to escape what I was sure was a blank stare of judgement. I blinked in surprise when Chris and Georgi looked up at me, both of them standing by the counter. “What are you two doing here?!” I demanded. “You can’t just come hang out while I’m at work--”

“I saw Dina and the hellspawn go into the gym across the street,” Chris said, and across the room, Plisetsky actually laughed. Chris blinked at the retired champion, who had hung up his phone and was heading back into the rink, and then turned back to me. “It’s a conditioning day, right?”

“That doesn’t mean that Dina won’t come back,” I pointed out as the door to the rink swung shut.

Georgi nodded. “Yeah, true, so we’ll make this quick.”

Chris pressed a Panera bag into my chest, ignoring my protests. “I had a gift card, shut up.”

I shut up and hid the bag under the desk.

“What do you think?” Georgi said, flipping his sketchpad open.

I gasped as I looked at the newest sketches. “Oh… oh wow.”

“Yeah, Chris suggested something more Shakespearean, but I remembered what you said about Spanish guitar… and then I listened to, like, Carlos Santana, and this idea just popped in my head and I think that this works better.”

I had to agree - the sketches now resembled something more like the platonic ideal of a romantic hero from one of Dina’s ridiculous trashy novels, but the buttoned collar and the high-waisted pants definitely helped ground it more than an open chested shirt. The sleeves were wide and flared ones that gathered at the wrist, and the collar was wide like a Victorian vampire’s.

“This is definitely better than the matador,” I said, nodding. “What colors?”

“Either red or burgundy, whichever I can find more of at the store,” Georgi said, puffing up proudly. “The pants are going to be black. I have a dark brown wig that will work perfectly, too. You’ll look like one of Santana’s songs come to life.”

“Santana is Mexican,” I said, but I couldn’t fight down my excitement. “I mean, it works. Okay, what’s the next step?”

“I get your measurements,” Georgi said, brandishing a ribbon of measuring tape. “Chris, stand guard. Victor, take off your shirt.”

I squawked at him, and he dragged me into the back so I could strip in peace.

It took him a good fifteen to twenty minutes to be satisfied with his measurements, which he jotted down on his sketch. “You’re too freaking skinny,” he grunted as he measured down the inside of my thigh - he’d called it the “inseam” - and then wrote down the numbers.

“We’ve established this.”

“Yeah, well, at least you’ve kept your muscle. Sheesh.”

“How do you know how to do this?” I asked, and he gave me a dirty look.

“What, did you think I went to Party City for my cosplay costumes? I make everything I wear, Victor.”

“Oh.”

“Seriously, what did you guys think I do? I’m even doing some of the costumes for the play this year. We’re doing _Romeo and Juliet_ , I’m on the team for the ladies’ dresses. I know I told you this.”

“Right. I remember now.” I didn’t, but my terrible memory was legendary at this point. Still, Georgi seemed satisfied with that, and he went back to wrapping the measuring tape around my calves.

Once he’d gotten all the measurements he needed, he let me scramble back into my clothes and slip my shoes back on. “I’ll try and make allowances for the skate boots,” he said as we headed back into the lobby. “Sorry for bad-touching you.”

“It’s fashion,” I said, sighing. “At least I know for a fact that you’re straight.”

Georgi snorted and patted my shoulder, and Chris made a face at us both. “We’re still clear, but I think we’re going to want to make our exit as fast as possible,” he said, pointing at the clock.

Georgi nodded and packed up his sketchpad. I took back my spot behind the counter.

Chris swore suddenly and grabbed Georgi’s arm. “It’s Dina, c’mon--”

“Supply closet,” I said, and they ran back into the hallway just as Dina opened the outer doors. I made sure the counter was clear, and hid my dinner behind a bunch of receipt paper.

“Victor, why aren’t you cleaning?” my stepmother demanded as she clomped in her stupid high heels around the counter, pushing me out of the way so she could pull the lockbox out. She pulled the key from her cleavage - _ew_ \- and popped the lockbox open.

“I’ve finished up all the cleaning I can do while watching the counter,” I said.

Dina rolled her eyes at me. “You could always do the windows.”

“Did them already.”

Dina looked up and squinted at the windows across the lobby. “You missed a spot,” she said.

I fought the urge to glare at her and retrieved the glass cleaner from under the counter. There were no smudges that I could really see, but I still put on a show of cleaning the inside of the windows for Dina before stepping back. “Better?”

Dina scowled at me, and then shoved a bunch of twenties from the lockbox into her bra. “It’s fine. Make sure to do a better job before locking up tonight. I’m going to check the ladies’ room.” She clomped down the hallway, and I waited until the restroom door swung shut before I yanked the supply closet door open and hissed at my friends to leave, _now_.

Georgi and Chris quickly escaped as Dina inspected the facilities, and I hid my dinner in a better hiding spot behind some rental skates. I was waiting for her when she emerged, looking annoyed. _What could she possibly have to complain about?_

“I guess that Taki boy did a good job today,” she said.

I frowned at her. “You mean Nishigori?” _But I’m the one that cleaned in there._

“Whatever. I can never say Chinese names right.” She pointed at the lockbox. “Make sure that’s secure. I’ll be going home with the boys after they finish their workouts, so do a good job closing. _Or else_.” She strode out, and I scowled after her.

Yuuri and his coach finished up pretty soon after that, and Plisetsky finished changing into his street shoes first, so he headed outside to get his car started.

“Hey.”

I looked up from my homework, which I’d restarted after Dina had left. “Um? Yes?”

Yuuri blushed as he met my eyes. “Thanks. For the advice. I think that worked better.”

I blinked. “Th… the be a different character thing?”

“Yeah. I thought about it and realized you were completely right. I’m going to skate it like the woman.”

Oh my god. That… _that was really cool._

Yuuri shrugged. “I figure she can play hard to get, maybe more coy. So thanks… Vic?”

I nodded, shocked into silence.

Yuuri smiled, and my entire body felt very suddenly warm. _Oh shit, I’ve still got it baaaaaad--_

“Car’s warmed up,” Plisetsky said, poking his head back in. “C’mon, Katsudon. I promised I’d have you home by eight.”

“Coming, Coach.” Yuuri slung his skate bag over his shoulder, and waved to me as he left. I was too stunned to do anything but stare after him.

_He has a really beautiful smile…_

 

I finished all the regular cleaning I had to do - the men’s room was easy enough to finish, and the lobby needed to be swept and vacuumed, but I finished on-time to lock up for the night.

It was too late for me to skate on my own like usual - curfew was nine-thirty on school nights - so I grabbed all my stuff, checked on my mother’s skates, and headed home. I hadn’t gotten any tips that day, so my count was still where I left it - the manager of the pro shop might be willing to swing a discount for sharpening my skates if I caught him tomorrow before he left for the day. He was a nice enough guy.

I flicked on the light on my handlebars and headed home, hoping that everyone was in bed already.

No such luck, I was greeted with lights on downstairs as I walked my bike up the driveway and stowed it in the shed. I let myself slump in disappointment and made sure my leftover Panera meal was hidden in my bag before heading inside.

Both of my stepbrothers were slumped at the kitchen counter, freshly showered and clutching ice packs to various parts of their bodies. It looked like Celestino had worked them hard.

I kept my mouth shut as I tried to slip past the kitchen and head downstairs to the basement, but no such luck. Winston sat up, and his eyes zeroed in on me. “Hey, _Loser_ ,” he called.

I froze, and that gave him time to literally throw a book at my head. I caught it and blinked. It was _The Great Gatsby_ in paperback _._

“Read the first three chapters and write up notes for me,” Winston ordered. “I need it by tomorrow morning.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if you read it yourself?” I asked without thinking, and both of them gave me poisonous looks.

“We’re too busy,” Rupert reminded me in a dangerous voice, and I deflated.

“Fine,” I said, and escaped into the basement before either of them could stop me.

 

I finished my dinner as I did Winston’s homework for him, thankfully having already finished my own at work. I sent bravep0rk a couple texts whining about the rich characters in the book - they all reminded me of my stepfamily, and were already grating on my nerves - and received a few amused responses. Then I dug around for my dad’s old portable CD player and headphones, and unearthed Mom’s skate music collection.

Chris had mentioned that we could scour the library for music, but I already had a song in mind. My mother had skated to it years ago, before I was born. I remembered finding the VHS tapes of her performance and watching it, enraptured. Dad had been quiet, too; even years after Mom’s death, he had a hard time watching her programs. I hadn’t noticed then, because I was too busy marveling over the graceful woman on the screen _who was my mother_.

The music, though… I kept one ear uncovered as I found the track that I remembered noting down, and the song began to play.

Yuuri’s song had been similar, but faster-paced and a bit more high energy. I didn’t know if I could match his stamina, which was legendary on the message board, but the memory of him thanking me and the thought of him skating that program like the woman being chased by the aggressive suitor… it gave me an idea.

It was easy enough to slot Rupert into the role of the aggressive suitor, the haughty peacock chasing the beautiful woman who had been stuck on a pedestal without her permission. There had to be tons of other men chasing him-- _her_. Her. And sometimes things didn’t work out like that, sometimes the flashiest suitor didn’t win. Sometimes, it was someone who was willing to be… nice. And approachable.

I held no illusions that I could seduce Yuuri Katsuki, that I could actually be a competitor for his affections. But the idea stuck, and my stupid crush on the hometown celebrity definitely made it more attractive to use. And since I didn’t have a chance with Yuuri, what harm could it do to pretend, just to perform well? Maybe I could redirect it to bravep0rk, once I’d met him.

I pulled out my notebook filled with French notes and started jotting down ideas for choreography as I restarted the track. I’d really liked what I saw of Yuuri’s step sequences, and while it had been literal years since I’d done ballet, I still remembered enough to sketch the rough idea into something passable, something that could mirror what I’d seen of the routine from earlier.

I was just _inspired_ , okay? And bravep0rk was most likely a Yuuri fan, so he’d understand.

It was well past eleven at night when I finally called it quits on the choreo and stuffed everything back into my bag. I’d need to rip the song off the CD, and try and find out the title so I could properly credit it. And I needed to figure out how to get my spot in the ice show.

Problems for tomorrow. I flopped onto my mattress and burrowed under my covers. My dreams that night were filled with dancing peacock men and the women escaping their attentions.

 

“Go for the darker red, if you can,” I said the next day during Homeroom. “I don’t want to be too flashy, I’d rather be classy and understated. Does that make sense?”

“You mean like maroon?” Georgi raised his eyebrows but nodded. “Actually, I think it will work well with the wig.”

“I’m excited,” Chris said, leaning in. “Oh, and I packed an extra lunch for you, swing by my locker after fourth period and I’ll give it to you.”

I sighed, but didn’t protest.

During my lunch break, I hid in the locker banks outside the library and opened the chicken caesar salad that Chris had smuggled me. I ate quickly and headed into the library to snag a computer.

Finding the application for the ice show - which was usually open to any skaters between the ages of twelve to eighteen who lived in the area - was simple enough; I just navigated to the Ice Castle website and followed the links to the city’s parks and rec department homepage.

The show was basically a glorified recital, or a laid-back exhibition, but there were still fees for entry. I did some mental math, and figured out how long it would take me to earn enough tips so I could cover the twenty-dollar fee, which was much less than if I’d had to rent or purchase a costume through the sponsors. If I could crank out the tips this weekend, I could make the deadline for entry in a week and a half, _and_ get my mom’s skate blades sharpened. I downloaded the PDF off the website and sent it to the printer.

Once I had the entry application printed out, I stuck it in my history textbook and checked the time. I had another ten minutes before the end of the period.

It was super easy to dodge the Net Nanny internet blocker that the school had installed on all the computers in the lab. There were websites that I could go to that acted as portals to the greater web, as long as I had a valid web address. Of course, I went to my favorite message board, HistoryMakers.net.

Once I was logged in and had another window pulled up for camouflage, I checked my inbox. To my utter lack of surprise, I had a single private message from bravep0rk. I was smiling as I opened it.

 

_So I’ll bet you’re super busy preparing for the Open, I’m really excited! I’ll definitely be there. My friends are in it too! What should I be looking for? Do you have your program picked out? Also yeah I know, you’re not supposed to like the rich people in Gatsby. lol there are a lot of people like that around here, right? :) Offer’s still open for help if you want it. :) I’d give you my entire essay on Gatsby but I’m 100% certain someone from the English department will recognize it._

I replied.

 

_I am super busy but that doesn’t mean I can’t talk! I’ll miss you if you stop talking to me! I’m getting my costume figured out but I’ll be wearing dark red most likely and my music is a Spanish guitar song, you’ll recognize it. :) I can’t wait to see your friends perform, are YOU performing? What should I be looking for? Also I guess the reason I don’t like Gatsby so far is *because* I do know so many people that remind me of those people in the book. Thanks for letting me rant at you so far. I think I’ll be okay at the moment for the essay, I can pull that off. :)_

I went and poked around the forum, adding to threads on American skaters I knew about and reading up on international skaters that I didn’t follow as closely. There were a lot of impressive newcomers coming from overseas, especially Italy and Korea. There was a lot of speculation about who specifically would be qualifying for the 2006 Olympic Games in Turin; of course I said my piece about Yuuri before stumbling upon a new thread for a recent debut, some ladies’ singles skater named Mila Babicheva. It looked like she was based in Ann Arbor, and there was confusion about her coach’s identity. I read through the thread, which wasn’t even a full page, and then noticed I had another private message.

I went back to my inbox to find another message from bravep0rk. Huh, he must be…

I leaned back and scanned the row of computers available to use in the library; there were a few people down at the other end, none of them seniors. Still, bravep0rk could be sitting right near me and I wouldn’t actually know unless I investigated.

Then I remembered the computer lab, further back in the library, in a room of its own. One look and I knew I wasn’t going to find bravep0rk that day - there was an entire class in the computer lab, and it looked like it was a class of seniors.

I sighed and went back to the message.

 

_Hahaha you know, I always get scared that you’ll tell me one day that you’re bored of talking to me and to stop texting you. I don’t know why I feel like I can tell you that but it’s true. I can’t wait to see you. I want to find you before then. I feel like I’ve known you all my life, even my closest friends don’t know some of this stuff. Good luck with your program and costume, but I know you’ll be amazing._

_(and yes, I am skating in the show)_

I felt something warm settle in my chest, but then the bell rang. I sighed and logged out of the forum before closing down the portal window and logging out of the computer. The last time someone left a proxy page up, the school administrators had installed Net Nanny.

Safely logged out and with my tracks covered, I grabbed my bag and all of my things so I could fast-walk out of the library. But before I ducked into the biology lab, I texted bravep0rk one last time.

 

_ <me> i am so excitd 2 b skatin w u_

_ <me> n ill never get bored of talkin 2 u_

_ <unknown> :)_

Georgi shoved another sandwich, plus an apple, into my bag at the end of the school day and I was able to get to the rink before Yuuko finished her shift, so I took the chance to sneak my mom’s skates to the pro shop while the open ice was still in session.

There were a few college students on the ice, and the speakers were blaring a Jesse McCartney song that I vaguely recognized from when Rupert had control over the radio. I didn’t recognize anyone in the shop as I entered, and the manager looked up as I walked in. Charles had been around since my dad was alive, and he smiled at me as I stepped up to the counter.

“What can I do for you today?”

“I need some blades sharpened,” I said, hoisting the skates onto the counter. “Personal favor to a friend. How much would I owe you?”

“Oh, please,” Charles said, taking the skates into his hands and examining them. “For you? Ten bucks.”

My eyes widened. “Seriously?” I asked, breathless. Typically it cost around fifteen or twenty, depending on which sport the skate was for.

Charles shrugged. “You work hard, son. And helping out a friend is a noble thing to do. Ten bucks.”

I handed him the cash and he gave me my receipt plus a ticket to hold onto when it was time to pick the skates up. Charles told me that with the current queue of orders, my skates would be done by Friday. I could live with that.

In the meantime, I put my tip jar out and slapped my Customer Service smile on my face. Yuuri wasn’t scheduled for private ice time that day, so my step-brothers got in earlier. Yuuko escaped before my stepfamily arrived, and I privately couldn’t blame her.

It was around four o’clock when the open ice time ended. I gave the fifteen and ten minute warning, and when the college students turned in their rentals a few of them saw the tip jar and tossed a couple bucks in. I guess I looked enough like a starving student that their heartstrings got tugged.

When Dina and my step-brothers showed up, I had finished with the rentals and most of the sandwich. As I moved to start cleaning the _freaking_ windows, both of the boys changed into their skates and took to the ice… but Celestino hadn’t shown up yet. I raised my eyebrows as I saw Rupert launch himself into a double lutz.

“Uh, should they be jumping without…?”

Dina glared at me and rolled her eyes. “What do you even know about jumping?”

I shrugged and went back to the windows.

Celestino arrived about ten minutes before the private ice time started, and when he saw both Rupert and Winston having what looked like a jumping contest, he slumped in exasperation. “If someone gets a twisted ankle or a busted skull, I am _not_ responsible,” he grumbled as he shouldered the door to the rink open and stalked through.

Dina gasped and pushed past me so she could catch up with the coach, and they immediately launched into another argument. The door swung shut, and I was wrapped in blessed silence.

I finished the sandwich and cleaned the rest of the lobby, and Dina stormed through the lobby and out the front door to chain smoke her stress away. I peeked through the windows again just in time to see Winston wipe out on a double salchow.

I shook my head. Winston always threw himself off balance with his arm positioning during jumps, as far as I could see. I was sure that Celestino was trying to fix it, but… the salchow was _literally_ the easiest jump to do, and Winston had trouble with _singles_.

Winston had literally thrown his homework at me on his way into the rink, so I wasn’t feeling too inclined to help him nail his jumps. Besides, he wouldn’t accept my advice anyway.

The rest of the private ice time passed like it usually did; Celestino actually got into a tense discussion with Rupert over quads at one point, and then Dina joined in. While his coach was distracted, Rupert attempted a quad salchow, under-rotated, and for the first time in a long time he didn’t nail the landing but instead went skidding. The bruises weren’t going to be pretty.

Hm. I wondered if I could learn quads… _not by myself,_ I told myself. _No coach, no quads. This isn’t a competition. I just want to skate one last time._

But it would be _amazing_ if I could nail quads and Rupert couldn’t.

That night, my stepfamily finished up at seven and headed out, both of my step-brothers huffy. Celestino hadn’t ripped any of his own hair out yet, which meant that either there had been progress or he’d won a few arguments. Dina smelled like cigarette smoke, enough so that I smelled her from behind the counter. She left me with instructions to make sure the building was spotless before I left for the night.

The pro shop was closed and locked up for the evening, so once my stepfamily was gone I locked the doors and finished cleaning the bathrooms and anywhere else that Dina might take issue with.

So, it was eight at night when I finally checked to make sure the coast was clear and grabbed a pair of rental skates that were sharpened and in my size.

I shut off the majority of the lights, grabbed my notebook that I’d jotted down my choreography ideas on, and changed into the skates, heading out into the rink for my own personal ice time.

 

It was definitely a lot harder than it looked, coming up with choreography for a program. I had bits and pieces of what I’d seen my step-brothers doing over the last couple of years, and I had a different idea of a story behind the routine. The song I’d picked out was long enough for a respectable short program, and I was confident that I could stylize the borrowed components of my choreography enough to disguise where I’d gotten them. All that was left was to nail down the actual arrangement.

I spent an hour on the ice working with what I’d come up with the previous night, and then it was time to switch back into my street shoes and resurface the ice for the next day. I headed home winded, and decided to try and focus on building up my cardio endurance over the next few weeks, just enough to sustain me through the two-and-a-half minute song.

The next few days passed much like the previous: I went to school, Georgi would update me on the costume progress, both of my friends would press extra lunches into my hands, I would work on all my homework whenever I had a free period, and then I’d go to the rink after school to work. Some days, Yuuri would be there and I’d get to watch him skate. I started paying attention to Plisetsky’s yelling, filing away what he said for later use. I did the same when my step-brothers and Celestino took the ice, all the while getting my choreography solidly planned out. When everyone had left, I’d grab my usual rentals, lock up, and take as much time as I dared to practice for myself.

I randomly stumbled upon the title to my program music during study hall on Friday, while I was poking around the figure skating forum. It didn’t look like bravep0rk was online then, and I wasn’t feeling particularly chatty, but I noticed a thread dedicated to Yuri Plisetsky and was inspired to click on it.

The library computers had headphones for people to use if they were watching instructional videos on the approved websites and from the installed program list. I checked to make sure that there weren’t any suspicious librarians around before I plugged the nearest headphones in and slipped them on.

The third video I watched, which had been uploaded to Metacafe and linked on the forum, was of Plisetsky’s second Olympics, and I froze when I heard the familiar music.

I opened Wikipedia and pulled up Yuri Plisetsky’s entry, scouring the list of his programs and finding the 1998 Winter Olympics, his second time in the games, and _finally_.

 _El Sol y el Mar_ , by Omar Santiago. Some poking around revealed that the song was off the artist’s 1994 album _Baladas Románticas de Guitarra_. My parents had probably at one point owned that CD. My throat tightened as I listened to the song again, behind the sounds of Plisetsky’s skating. I looked at the clock in the corner of the screen and saw it was close to the end of the period, and closed out of the video webpage.

I now had the title of my program music, and all the other information needed for the application. I filled that out during my study hall before finishing off my biology homework for the weekend. Hopefully, after today, I’d have earned enough in tips to pay the entry fee for the Autumn Open.

That day, my step-brothers were conditioning again, so they didn’t even come in. Dina did, though, and took a ton of the cash out of the lockbox. She inspected the bathrooms and told me not to come home until everything was perfectly spotless, even if it meant staying out past ten. That was supposed to be a death blow to my social life, or maybe my homework, but really it was _perfect_.

Once she’d left to go party or do whatever she did on Friday nights, I ducked into the pro shop and picked up my newly-sharpened skates. I thanked Charles again, and he waved me off with a smile.

I texted bravep0rk a little bit while I watched the front counter and worked on Winston’s homework for the weekend - maybe I could somehow swing an early graduation since I was basically teaching myself the next grade’s lessons, wouldn’t that be nice - and complained some more about _The Great Gatsby_. Honestly, I could see why people enjoyed the book - the descriptions of the parties and the wealthy lifestyles were tempting - but it just annoyed me to no end how familiar all the antics were. The next book Winston was supposed to read was _A Farewell To Arms_ , and hopefully that would be better.

Tonight, a youth hockey class had booked the ice for a few hours, meaning everything was much noisier than usual. Middle school kids with hockey sticks streamed through the lobby, and I didn’t even want to think about how awful both the bathrooms would be - yes, even the ladies’ room. The vending machine guy was scheduled to come the next morning, but I would be working the evening shift so I could clean the house and mow the lawn, so that would be something Nishigori would have to handle.

The class ended at seven-thirty, and I was practically jumping at the chance to possibly close up early since we didn’t have any more bookings, but then someone walked in.

Of _course_ it was Yuuri Katsuki. _Of course_. But this time, he was with his sister, who smiled when all the little girls in the hockey class recognized her and crowded around her. Yuuri looked quite happy to get out of their way and watch from the outskirts of the room as the kids all clamored for autographs and stories about the 2002 Winter Games. It was kind of adorable.

Mari wasn’t the first Olympian in the Katsuki family - Toshiya and Hiroko Katsuki had been the top Japanese pairs skaters for two Olympics, and they’d taken home a bronze before winning a silver at their final Winter Games in 1994. They would have done three Olympics, but they took time off to have their kids and start their family, switching to train at this very rink in the eighties. After their retirement in the nineties, they focused on their kids’ careers on Team U.S.A. instead.

The Katsuki parents had been the Japanese national pairs champions for _years_ , and they’d managed to take the podium at Worlds several times, winning gold twice. If that’s not a pedigree, I don’t know what is.

Everyone had been a bit surprised when Mari had declared no interest in competitive figure skating, switching gears for hockey in 2000, but obviously we were all aboard that train now. If the NHL wanted to get a woman’s team going, Mari would be the best ambassador to get hype for it. Of course, I couldn’t see women’s ice hockey catching on outside the Midwest and maybe a few states right by Canada, but seriously. Mari really deserved the same kind of treatment that the Red Wings got.

Well, at least Yuuri was carrying on the family legacy. He’d gone for the singles discipline instead of any partner skating, and. Well. I’d already waxed poetic about his accomplishments, but it’s still worth mentioning that he went from pewter medal to gold in a year. He was _definitely_ going to the 2006 Olympics. Qualifiers for it were still a year away, and we were still recovering from the Summer Games in Athens, but if Yuuri managed to pull off a medal at the Grand Prix and Worlds this year, he was all but guaranteed a spot on the American team.

The future Olympian sidled up to the counter as his sister entertained the excited kids, and pulled out a wallet from his jacket pocket. “Uh, can we get private ice? Just for an hour.”

I blinked. “O-oh, of course!” I nodded and grabbed the sign-in sheet. “Fill this out, and you know the walk-on fee is fourteen dollars--”

Yuuri pulled a twenty from his wallet and held it out. “That’s fine.”

The rink had an old receipt printer, and I quickly punched in the private ice time purchase and handed him his copy of the receipt before sticking the merchant’s copy in the lockbox and making change for his twenty. I handed him his six dollars back, and he immediately put it in my tip jar.

 _Oh be still my beating heart_.

“Thanks,” he said, smiling a soft little smile. “For the ice time, and for your help earlier this week.”

I blushed. “Oh, it’s no problem.”

He nodded to me and grabbed his skate bag off the bench where he’d set it, taking a seat so he could change out of his street shoes. The herd of kids was starting thin out thanks to parents showing up to pick up their children, and Mari was able to join her brother on the bench, lacing up her hockey skates, after she waved goodbye to her adoring fans.

I had a sudden thought as the lobby mostly emptied out. “Uh, can I resurface for you before you get out there?” I said, hiding the lockbox under the counter.

“Oh, that would be great!” Mari said, grinning. “Nothing like virgin ice.”

“Oh my god,” Yuuri said, burying his face in his hands, but I laughed.

Resurfacing only took about fifteen minutes, and I was surprised when I put the zamboni away and found the Katsuki siblings still in the lobby. “We kept an eye on the counter for you,” Mari said. “Also… uh.” She waved her hand at Winston and Rupert’s new posters. “These.”

My face must have been hilarious, because Mari started laughing. “Oh thank god I’m not the only one thinking that.”

“Thinking what?” I asked as I took my spot behind the counter again.

“No,” Yuuri tried to stop his sister, but she talked over him.

“Thinking that these guys are desperate for attention?”

“Oh,” I said. “You got it in one.”

Mari laughed even harder. “Are they skating in the Open?”

“Of course they are,” I said, rolling my eyes. I flipped my history textbook open again. “I think they’re hoping to catch the eye of a new coach, too.”

“Poor Celestino,” Yuuri said. I belatedly remembered that Celestino had been his coach before Plisetsky had shown up. “It’s not that he’s a bad coach--”

“Not at all,” I agreed. Internally I was screaming - this was the most I’d talked to either Katsuki sibling _ever_.

“Well,” Mari said. “Maybe he’ll get rid of those two skating monkeys and be able to coach a student that will actually listen to him.”

I hummed my agreement, and then the two of them headed out to the rink to check that the ice had frozen over properly. I checked my phone and read the text from bravep0rk that had come while I had been on the zamboni.

 

_ <unknown> trust me the rich ppl rnt the good guys in the book_

 

I thought back to the last thing I’d texted him. Oh. Right. _The Great Gatsby_.

 

_ <me> sure seems like fitzgerald wants me 2 thnk that they r tho_

 

No response immediately came, but I figured he was busy. It _was_ a Friday night, after all.

I watched the Katsuki siblings goofing around on the ice - Mari attempted a singleton jump in her hockey skates and fell on her butt, laughing - and then Yuuri started mimicking a speed-skater, and they were racing around the outside of the rink for a while.

I suddenly wished that I could have had siblings. _Real_ siblings. Siblings that actually liked me.

Mood soured, I ducked into the hallway and grabbed the supplies out of the closet to clean the bathrooms.

 

After their allotted hour, Yuuri and Mari cleared off the ice and thanked me for letting them skate. I waved it off - it was literally my job, after all - and watched them leave. It was starting to get dark earlier and earlier every day at this point, and at eight-thirty we were well into the twilight hour.

The parking lot was empty and so were the roads leading up to us, so I finished tidying up the rink and put everything away for tomorrow. Then, because it was pretty much officially closing time and Dina wasn’t expecting me home until everything was clean, I locked up early and shut off the lights in the lobby like usual.

My mom’s skates, blades newly sharpened, performed wonderfully, and I did an experimental spin once I was out on the ice. I pulled my mom’s CD out of my jacket pocket and popped it into the boombox, skipping to the song before _El Sol y el Mar_ , and mentally went over the choreography I’d been working on. Once the song started up I fast-forwarded until I was close to the end of the song, and skated out to center ice.

The song faded out, and I waited for _El Sol_ to start up. At the first strum of the Spanish guitar, I began to dance and gesture before pushing off.

I ran through as much as I could remember on first try, restarting the song a few times to nail down arm movements. There were some nice flourishes in the song that I paired to twizzles and spins, and it took a few run-throughs but I was able to keep to the beat after a few tries. I mostly marked my jumps for now, but my body was buzzing with the potential. It felt like somewhere, deep down inside me, I knew I could land the jumps I’d planned. All of them.

I imagined the character I’d constructed in my mind, dancing at the outskirts of the drama surrounding the playboy and the most beautiful woman in town, and I let the one-way adoration and longing weigh down my movements and fill my expressions with emotion.

I went into a sit-spin, and adjusted my center of gravity for a tighter spin. _Tighter arms_ , I reminded myself, flashing back to Celestino’s admonishments to Rupert from earlier in the week.

The fifth run-through was when I decided to add in the jumps. I fell on the triple toe, so I restarted that sequence and tried again. I eventually paused the music and just started trying to land the toe loop, and by the time I could reliably land it, it was time for me to call it quits and resurface the ice one last time before going home.

I hid Mom’s skates back in the closet and got the zamboni revved up again, mentally cataloguing the soreness in my hip from when I’d fallen. I didn’t even really remember resurfacing the ice afterwards, but I got my stuff all packed up and shut off all the rest of the lights before officially locking up for the night. I emptied my tip jar into my bag, grinning as I realized I’d made enough to be able to pay the entry fee for the Autumn Open.

It wasn’t until I was safely back in my basement bedroom, freshly showered and winding down for the night, that I checked my phone and saw the message from bravep0rk.

 

_ <unknown> just w8 u wll see fitzgerald ttly agrees w u_

_ <me> lol if u say so_

 

I pulled my notepad out of my bag again and added some choreography stuff that I didn’t want to forget, so I could look over it in the morning. The next day would be filled with mindless physical labor, plenty of time to mentally review everything.

I had a month, and at this rate I’d be ready right on time. For the first time in a long time, I felt excited for what the future held. Even if it was just for one day, one ice show, the flicker of anticipation in my chest was enough to sustain me through whatever stupidity my stepfamily threw at me.

…I hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended listening: [_Sol y el Mar_ performed by Ross Milligan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lUnc6ww7js4)


	4. At The Stroke Of Midnight

The days turned into weeks, and I kept up with the routine I had fallen into. With Chris and Georgi’s help, I managed to put on a few pounds - after that first week, Chris started sneaking protein shakes into school for me. I now had a supply of them in my locker, and had actually built up my appetite since I started training for the open. I had been a bit shocked to find out that my perpetual lack of decent food at home had shrunk my stomach, but that was starting to change.

A week before the Autumn Open, I had finished reading the Great Gatsby and had started on an essay so Winston would get off my back about it. I decided to write about wasteful wealthy people and the themes related to that, and bravep0rk sent me an article about the collapse of the stock market and how the Gilded Age had contributed to that. I had the thesis of the paper sketched out by Saturday, and I felt like I was ahead enough to be able to slow down on it. I was pulling average grades in my own classes, which was a feat in of itself, considering how all the skaters in my life had trouble balancing schoolwork with their training. I might have been a little smug as I cleaned up the leaves in the yard, leaving them in lawn bags at the curb for the city to take away. I’d been raking all day, and the air had definitely turned cool and crisp.

A bit sore and worn out, I headed into work at the rink with no plans to skate on my own that night. I had earned more tips, and planned on getting my mother’s skates sharpened before the Open. I’d sent in my application for the Open, and received an acceptance in the mail - I’d had to have it sent to the rink to avoid Dina’s attention. It had been addressed to Vitya Nikiforov, because I knew if someone announced that name over the loudspeakers, bravep0rk would recognize it. I wasn’t necessarily going to be hiding that day.

It was a free day for my step-brothers, so Dina made a cursory stop in to raid the lockbox for petty cash before disappearing to go mince out on the town. Yuuri had had his private ice time in the morning, and then the local men’s hockey team had the ice until three in the afternoon. Nishigori had handled the morning shift and resurfaced the ice before I even arrived, so as usual I was cleaning while there wasn’t anyone around.

When I got back to the desk, I was surprised to see Chris and Georgi waiting for me.

“Great, you’re still here,” Chris said.

I made a face at him. “Where would I go?”

“Point. Anyway.” Chris dragged me out from behind the counter. “Is anyone else coming out here?”

“Uh, no one else has booked private ice time,” I said. “Public skate starts at four.”

“Great. We’re doing a wig test, and Georgi wants you to try on the pants.”

“Seriously?” I groaned, and Chris stayed behind to watch the door while Georgi pulled me into the clean men’s room and threw the pants at me.

“These are kind of long,” I said, locking myself in a stall so I could change in peace.

“Well duh, I’m going to hem them.”

“Right.” The trousers for my costume had been made from jet-black Lycra, shiny and stretchy where it needed to be. I shimmied out of my sweatpants and slipped the trousers on, and they fit me pretty well, if a little loose.

“Are they meant to be so big on me?” I asked as I unlatched the stall door and stepped out.

Georgi had a jar of safety pins sitting on the sink, and he stuck a bunch of them in his mouth and started pinching the fabric. “I know what I’m doing, Victor,” he said around the pins. “Yes, it’s on purpose.” He started pinning the trousers at the side seam, and then moved around to the other side to do it again. The legs of the trousers got tighter and more fitted as he worked. “Okay,” he said, grabbing more pins. “Now the bottom hem. Grab your skates.”

I sighed and shuffled out of the bathroom, and Chris poked his head into the hallway.

“Coast is still clear,” he called, and I flashed him the thumbs-up.

Georgi had me put on my mom’s skates so he could figure out how much to leave on the bottom around the boots, and how much he wanted them to flare. He used chalk to mark a few things, but mostly pinned stuff. Once that was done, he let me flee back into the stall to change back into my sweats.

“So,” Chris said as Georgi carefully folded the trousers into a shopping bag and stuck it in his backpack. “Wig.”

“Got it,” Georgi said, and tossed me what looked like a swimmer’s cap, but made out of fabric. “Let’s get this on, I’ll show you how.”

“Wha--”

“How do you think I can pull off a blonde wig?” Georgi quipped. “C’mon, Vic.”

Back in the bathroom, Georgi showed me how to tuck all of my hair under the wig cap, and then he pulled the long, dark-colored wig out of his backpack. “I’ll hold onto this when you’re not using it,” he said. “It’s expensive.”

“I don’t know if it’ll look real enough--”

“Oh my god, you have _no_ faith in us. Depressing.” Georgi shoved the wig onto my head and started adjusting it.

When he let me look in the mirror after picking and pulling for a good few minutes, I had to admit it looked pretty good. My light hair was completely hidden, and the dark hair fell just past my shoulders. It felt silky and smooth in a way that my natural hair never could. Of course, from a distance it would work perfectly well. My eyebrows were still super light in comparison to the dark brown of the wig, but when Georgi and I went back into the lobby I discovered that Chris had set up an impromptu makeup station.

“Just doing the eyebrows today, but maybe I can check the bronzer on you.”

“What?” I whined, but Chris sat me on the nearest bench and handed me his makeshift makeup kit.

“Hold this.”

I sat still, because Georgi kept pinching me when I flinched, and Chris started drawing around my eyebrows with a dark pencil that I thought was meant to be for eyeliner. He went into the kit for what looked like a pot of ink, and pulled out the tiniest paintbrush I’d ever seen.

“Seriously, don’t move,” he said.

I froze, and he started painting onto my eyebrows with whatever was in that pot. “What is that stuff?” I asked, trying very hard not to shake too much.

“Eyebrow gel, my cousin uses it because she has blonde eyebrows like you do. This stuff will go on over the hairs, and I know how to make it look natural because she literally made me sit there and practice on her.”

He switched to the other eyebrow and sat back, his lips pursed. “Let me see,” he said, going back in with the brush. I fought the urge to fidget.

Finally, Chris leaned back and his forehead smoothed out. “Oh, yeah, that looks natural. Here,” he added, handing me a mirror.

I blinked at my reflection. Yeah, the gel stuff managed to look fairly realistic even close up, but there were still a few light hairs sneaking through.

“I’ll fix that,” Chris said. “It’s no big deal, I just wanted to make sure the gel matched the wig.”

I pulled the mirror away from me and stared. The person looking back at me looked _nothing_ like mousy little Victor Montgomery.

“So for your skate, I’ll probably pull the wig’s hair back in a ponytail, does that work?” Georgi started messing with it again.

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” I agreed. “Don’t need it whipping in my face every time I spin.”

Georgi nodded. “I’ll try and work some braids or something into it, make it look fancy.”

“Don’t go overboard, you’re working too hard for what’s basically a glorified exhibition,” I said, giving voice to thoughts I’d been trying to stifle for weeks.

“Please,” Chris snorted, grabbing my face again and waving a brush right in front of my nose. “There will be talent scouts and coaches and _sponsors_ at the Open. If you snag any one of those people, you might be able to leverage your life against Dina.”

“I’m not counting on that,” I argued. “That kind of stuff only happens in movies. This is _real life,_ Chris.”

“Yeah, real life. Because evil stepmothers only exist in fairy tales,” Georgi snorted.

“Excuse me? You literally compared yourself to Maleficent after Anya broke up with you.”

Georgi pinched me again and I glared at him.

Chris sighed. “Okay, let’s test out this bronzer and see if we can’t make you look like you get outside once in a while.”

“Shut up.” I turned my glare on Chris. “I literally spent all morning outside raking leaves.”

Chris winced. “That explains why your nose is red. You got sunburned.”

“I just can’t win.”

“I can work with it,” Chris said, and immediately started brushing my face. I sputtered when I breathed in some of the powder.

“Oh, _blyad_ ,” Georgi said suddenly, grabbing Chris’s arm. “That’s Dina’s car pulling in.”

“ _What?!_ ”

Chris grabbed the makeup kit from my hands, and Georgi dragged me to my feet. “Bathroom,” he said, pushing both me and Chris in that direction. “Hide out in there. I’ll distract her. You’re cleaning. _Wash his face!_ ”

Chris grabbed the rest of his makeup off the bench and we sprinted down the hallway, throwing ourselves into the bathroom as Georgi positioned himself in front of the counter.

Once we were safe in the bathroom, Chris repacked his makeup kit and helped me pull the wig off, then threw me a wet wipe for my face. “That should get everything off,” he said. “Scrub!”

I scrubbed like no man has ever scrubbed before, and the bronzer came off pretty easy. “Well, that worked out,” I said, and pointed at my bare skin.

“Great, now get those eyebrows off!”

I went over my forehead again, rubbing at the eyebrow gel. “It’s really stubborn--”

“ _Merde_ ,” Chris said, grabbing another wipe. “You work on that one, I’ll get this one.”

We both worked furiously to wipe away the gel, and Chris did one last run-over with his wipe before he grabbed mine and threw both of them in the trash. “You’re clean,” he declared.

“Great,” I said. I fixed my hair, realized it was pointless, and looked at Chris. “Are you coming out?”

“With a makeup kit? Hell no, she’ll get suspicious!”

I blinked. “Point. Hide in the middle stall.”

“Why the middle stall?” Chris grumbled.

“No one uses it, it’s usually the cleanest, and people for some reason prefer the handicap stall. _Hide_.”

Chris hid.

I took a moment to compose myself before I left the bathroom. I made a pit stop at the supply closet to sell the bit, and then I headed back into the lobby.

“I don’t _care_ if you were asked, you do _not_ work here!” Dina was snapping at Georgi, who had his chin stuck out in defiance. Winston was lounging against the door, playing with his phone, and he looked up with a nasty smile as I stepped behind the counter.

“Is there something wrong?” I asked in a bland tone.

“Why did you leave this _troll_ to watch the counter?” Dina demanded, gesturing at Georgi.

Georgi’s brows came together at the word _troll_ , but he kept his mouth shut.

“One of the hockey players made a mess in the men’s room,” I said. “I figured that I’d take care of it while the ice was booked, and I asked Georgi to watch the counter while I was doing that.”

“A _mess_?” Dina narrowed her eyes at me.

“Someone stink-bombed the toilet,” I said dryly, and my stepmother’s face turned green.

“Well, good initiative,” she muttered, turning away. “When do these Neanderthals finish practice?”

I looked at the clock on the wall. It was 2:53. “Ten minutes,” I said.

“Great. Winston will be taking the private ice time after they’re done. Resurface the ice for him.” Dina glared at Georgi. “And don’t ever have a non-employee watch the desk for you ever again.”

I nodded, and Georgi flicked his eyes towards the men’s room. “The bathroom is safe to use now,” I said, and Georgi nodded and scurried down the hall before Dina could say anything else. My stepmother made a face and stomped outside, probably to get a quick smoke in.

“I don’t trust your word,” Winston said, which was _rich_ considering I was the one scrubbing his personal toilet every other week. Still, I wasn’t going to argue, since the last thing I needed was him stumbling on Chris and Georgi with a makeup kit and a wig in the men’s room.

“Then hold it,” I said, smiling as sweetly as I could manage.

Winston glared at me, and the expression was _remarkably_ similar to Dina’s, wow, genetics. He turned on his heel and plopped down on the nearest bench to switch out his street shoes for his skates. I drummed my fingers on the counter as the hockey team huddled on the ice one last time before they all exited the rink, heading for the locker rooms towards the other corner of the rink. I sighed and grabbed my jacket from under the counter. “Let me… just. yeah.”

Winston didn’t answer, and I headed into the rink, weaving through the hockey team so I could get to the zamboni.

When I made my first pass, Dina and Winston had come into the rink and were standing by the boards, watching me resurface the ice. I rolled my eyes once I was turned away, and kept going. Once I was finished and had the zamboni parked, I headed back into the lobby.

“Now, remember,” Dina was telling Winston. “Once you can do clean singles and doubles, we can start working on your triples.”

I barely resisted the urge to snort. Winston would manage a clean triple the day pigs flew.

Once I was in the lobby, I sprinted to the men’s room and poked my head in. “Guys?”

Chris and Georgi peeked out of two separate stalls.

“They’re rinkside, now’s your chance.”

My friends made a break for it, and that happened to be the moment when the locker room door opened and the sweaty hockey team started streaming out. Georgi and Chris joined the throng as they borderline-stampeded towards the front door.

I sighed in relief and took my spot behind the counter again, waving to some of the guys that were leaving. Once the lobby was empty, Dina drifted out of the rink and ended up back by the front desk. “I get the feeling your mind isn’t fully on your work,” she said, crossing her arms. “Why did you bring your school bag?”

“Well, I’m trying to keep my grades up,” I shrugged.

“See, funny thing,” Dina said, leaning against the counter. “Most people go to school so they can go to college.”

I eyed her warily as I headed around the counter and pulled out the disinfectant spray.

“And most people go to college so they can get jobs.”

I still didn’t answer, spraying the inside of the nearest boot so I didn’t have to look her in the face. I didn’t know what she was getting at, but I knew I wouldn’t like it.

“Lucky you, though,” she said, tossing her hair. “You already _have_ a job. Why even bother with the rest of it?”

I took a deep breath. “It’s the law that I _have_ to attend school,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but you don’t _have_ to go to college,” Dina snickered. She slapped the countertop and minced out into the parking lot again, her heels clomping on the floor.

I closed my eyes and counted down from ten. Once I was eighteen, I could… I could escape. Get a real job that actually paid me. Maybe go into the city.

I thought about the military again; it was definitely not my first choice, but I could swallow my distaste if it meant a chance at independant life.

Suddenly, I realized there were tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes. I angrily wiped them away, furious at both myself and my stepmother. _What did I ever do to her to deserve this? I was only a kid when Dad died._

Not for the first time, I wished things had turned out differently on the night of the fire.

“Excuse me?”

I schooled my expression and wiped my face again, making sure I was presentable. “Yes?” I asked as I turned around to face the counter again.

A young mother with her two kids were standing awkwardly by the door, and I realized they’d probably heard me crying. _Shit._

“How can I help you?” I said, forcing my face into my Customer Service smile.

“Can we rent skates?” the mother asked, and I bit back all of my sarcastic replies.

“Of course. But you’ll have to wait until the public skate time, which isn’t for a little bit.”

“Why can’t we go out there _now_?” the little girl demanded.

I breathed in through my nose and forced my smile even harder. “A skater has booked private ice time, sorry!”

“We understand!” the mother said, shushing her daughter. “When does public skate start?”

“Four,” I answered.

“Okay, we’ll go get McDonald’s and then come back to skate, how does that sound?”

The little girl whined and pointed at the window. “I wanna skate like that!”

 _Oh, honey,_ I thought. _You can do so much better._

“We can try once the ice is open again, sweetie.” The mom shot me a kind smile as she dragged her kids back out the front door.

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. “ _Blyad_ ,” I muttered, resolving to ask Georgi for stronger Russian swear words. My Russian was so rusty that it was a wonder I could even understand Georgi’s parents whenever I heard them talking in their first language.

Even so, between my shaky Russian and my only-barely-better grasp of French, I had plenty of curses to throw around right in front of my stepfamily without them understanding. It was a relief, really.

I didn’t really have much to do for the rest of the private ice time, so I busied myself with mindless work. While I was doing that, Dina breezed back in without even a glance in my direction. She ended up rinkside, yelling at Winston about his technique - it was like watching a fish critiquing a bird on its flying, to be honest. She wandered off again, and I took a break from puttering around behind the counter to look up through the glass. The family from before showed up again, along with a few college students and a couple teenagers on a date. They all lined up at the desk, and I had no reason to turn them away, so I started taking payments for their rentals and ice time. Once the line was taken care of, they all settled on the benches to change out their shoes and I watched my stepbrother through the window.

Eventually, Winston took a nasty enough fall that he didn’t get back up right away.

It was getting close to four o’clock, so I let myself into the rink space and whistled for Winston’s attention. “Hey, public skate starts at four and I’ve got customers that want to get on the ice.”

“Piss off,” Winston shot back at me, finally rolling onto his knees so he could stand again.

“Okay, fine,” I snapped, just _done_ with my entire stepfamily. “I’ll go and tell these _paying customers_ , who are the reason the rink has an income and thus _you_ have an income, to go piss off and take their money elsewhere. Maybe they’d rather go to the rinks in Ann Arbor, huh?”

“Shut up,” Winston said, managing to get back onto his feet. He pushed off and started skating, picking up speed, gearing up for a jump.

I could tell he had reached the end of his patience as well, because he flubbed the jump _hard_. He flubbed it so hard that I could barely tell what kind of jump it was.

“You need to put more power into the liftoff,” I said without thinking, but it was true. “You’re not getting enough air, if you’re trying for a double or a triple. You might want to work on weight training--”

“ _SHUT UP,_ ” Winston snapped, his face red. “Shut up, _shut up_ , _shut the hell up!_ No one cares what you think, _Loser!_ You can’t even skate a straight line anymore anyway!”

My entire body went cold in fury. “Fine,” I finally said, turning away. “Five minutes and then I’m letting them on the ice. Get off so paying customers can skate.”

“ _Piss off!_ ” Winston screamed at me, and I shut the door on his yelling.

I turned to the small crowd of customers watching with shocked expressions. “All right, it’s officially past four, public skate time has begun,” I said loudly. “Stick to the outer ring of the ice, and only go to the center if you know what you’re doing.”

Dina came back as the first bunch of customers were making their way onto the ice, and she whirled on me. “What did you do?”

“They paid for public skate,” I said dully. “Was I supposed to send them away? Or to Ann Arbor?”

Dina’s face turned scarlet, and I could tell she was fighting with herself over Winston’s ice time versus paying customers. Whatever. I didn’t have the mental faculties to deal with her or her jerkass kids.

Winston stomped out of the rink and slammed his butt down on the bench, starting to yank his skates off, and that solved that problem. He kept shooting glares at me as he did, and Dina threw her hands up in the air before stomping back outside to smoke again. Was she _trying_ to give herself lung cancer?

Eventually, Winston finished changing and followed his mom out. I heard the sound of the Jag revving up and peeling out of the parking lot.

I sighed and went back to my work, and spent the rest of my shift texting bravep0rk under the table. It would be another week, and then I’d finally meet him.

God, it couldn’t come soon enough.

 

_ <unknown> is it weird that im freaking out _

_ <me> nrvous? _

_ <unknown> yesyesyesyesyesyes _

_ <unknown> im more nervous abt this then i was abt junior sats _

_ <me> im nervous 2 _

_ <me> jst keep breathing _

_ <me> its gonna b amazing _

 

Monday morning, Georgi hauled a massive bag out of his locker and dragged me to the Black Box, the rehearsal room for lower-tier drama productions, for our study hall period.

Chris was waiting, and grinning. I immediately felt nervous. We were deep in the fine arts wing, and there was literally no one around. I knew that they were both my friends, but _still_.

“Black Box isn’t in use until we do the monologue show,” Georgi said, shutting the door and sticking a chair in front of it. “Strip.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” I said.

“Costume fitting, Vic,” Chris said. “C’mon.”

“I hate you both,” I grumbled, but obligingly took off my shirt as they both turned away, Georgi tossing me the bag so I could dress myself up again.

“Okay, you can turn around.”

They both did and Georgi made a delighted sound. “Oh, it’s perfect!”

“Uh,” I said, waving at my waist. “Are you sure?”

Georgi rolled his eyes. “I can fix that,” he said, grabbing more pins from his bag and kneeling down next to me. “Hold still.”

“The neutral-tone color works great,” Chris said, nodding approvingly. “It doesn’t clash with your skin.”

“Should you use the bronzer on me, then?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah, for sure. The bronzer is warm-toned like your skin tone, so it won’t work against it.”

“Still can’t believe how nice this fabric is,” Georgi said around a mouthful of pins. “I scored big with it, I’m saving some for my own use.”

“Hey, cool,” I said, consciously not shrugging. “Go wild.”

“For sure.”

The dark, almost wine-red shirt had been made tailored to match Georgi’s initial sketches: the sleeves were called Bishop sleeves, flared at the bottoms but cuffed at the wrists. The collar was big enough to cover my chin if I popped it up, but it was made of such a silky material and so heavy that it wouldn’t stay popped. Still, it was really nice, even buttoned as high as it was.

The trousers had been fitted and adjusted in the day between Georgi ambushing me at Ice Castle and Monday, and he’d finally added the cumberbund. Chris whistled when he saw it. “Damn, Vic. You cut a fine figure when you’ve got some meat on your bones.”

“I’m nowhere near competing shape,” I muttered, because I wasn’t. Even with Chris and Georgi feeding me outside of my stepmother’s house, I was still pretty underweight. The fact that I could skate at all was a miracle. Any coach worth his or her salt would ban me from the ice otherwise.

“One day,” Chris said in a confident tone. I rolled my eyes, but obligingly let Georgi pose me and check the fit of the shirt.

“That’s a Zorro shirt!” Chris finally exclaimed. “You look like the old Zorro! _Awesome!_ ”

Georgi grinned. “Nice catch, it only took you a month.”

“I like this one better than Zorro’s,” I said. “The color’s nicer.”

“You would,” Chris said as Georgi pinned something at my lower back. “So how are we doing this?”

“Keep everything at your house?” Georgi suggested. “It’s closest to the rink, and we can do Vic’s makeup there.”

“My mom can drive us to the rink, too,” Chris said. “She likes you.”

“That’ll keep me from getting messed up, I guess.”

“Okay, cool,” Georgi said. “I’ll finish sewing tonight, one last try-on tomorrow, and then Chris can take the stuff home.”

“I want to do at least one makeup test on you,” Chris said.

“Do whatever,” I said as Georgi finished pinning the shirt. “I’ll let you.”

“Oh, _thanks_.” Chris rolled his eyes, grinning.

Georgi dragged me over to where a full-length mirror was propped against the wall and did a little “ta-da!” gesture. “Twirl.”

I stared at myself in the mirror and felt a grin stretching my lips. I turned to examine the trousers, and the cumberbund really _did_ make my waist taper nicely. I felt… I felt pretty.

“You’re going to look so much classier than Rupert,” Chris said.

Even better.

I hated taking off the costume and putting on the oversized t-shirt and jeans that I’d worn to school, but I’d get to put it on again the next day, and then I’d be skating in it. That thought was enough to sustain me through the rest of the school day.

 

_ <me> final costume fitting _

_ <unknown> yayyyyy _

_ <me> went good :) _

_ <unknown> yaaaaaayyyyyyyyy _

_ <unknown> u said red rite _

_ <me> the top is dark red maroon n pants r black of course _

_ <unknown> classy :) _

_ <me> i hope sooooo _

_ <me> u ready yet? _

_ <unknown> oh yea costume is ready 2 go _

_ <unknown> i dont kno if i like it tho _

_ <unknown> 2 tight _

_ <me> im sure its fine :) _

_ <unknown> :) _

 

By Tuesday, Georgi had finished the costume, and it fit like a glove. By Wednesday, I decided that my program was ready for debut. By Friday, my work shift consisted of preparing for the Open and _only_ that. Yuuko and Nishigori both showed up for the morning shift and got the brunt of the work done, stocking the concession stand and hanging banners, and by the time I left that night after resurfacing, the place looked spectator-ready.

 

_ <me> 2moro _

_ <unknown> omg omg omg omg omg _

_ <me> cant wait 2 meet u _

_ <unknown> :) _

 

The day of the Open, I woke up at seven and started cooking without any prompting. I had finished all of my homework obligations, and had been covering for my chores all week. It would take minimum effort to keep the house up, and hopefully Dina would be too consumed with finding her sons a new coach or sponsor or something to really care.

At nine, Dina came downstairs and stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, her face contorted in confusion. “Why are you up so early?”

I shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep in.” I flipped the turkey bacon over in the pan, making it sizzle.

“Did you eat any of this?” Dina demanded, narrowing her eyes.

“Nope.”

“I don’t believe you.”

I shrugged.

Dina eyed the counter, which was covered in a breakfast buffet that could have fed an army. “I’ll be gone all day,” she said.

I already knew that. “Okay.”

“For the Autumn Open.”

“Right.”

“Were you planning on going to the Autumn Open?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

I took the pan of bacon off the stove and turned to her. “Not at all,” I said, and her face went slack in shock. “I’ve got too much to do at home.”

“But it’s skating--”

I gave her a _Look_. “That’s nice,” I said, dumping the bacon onto a plate.

“Well,” Dina grumbled, taking her seat at the table and flipping a magazine open. “Good to see you’re finally understanding your priorities.” She kept shooting glances over at me, like she expected me to change my mind.

I shrugged again and started cleaning up the mess in the kitchen as Rupert and Winston stumbled in. Neither of them thanked me, or even acknowledged me, as they grabbed food and sat down to stuff their faces.

Dina eventually took a plate for herself as I finished up scrubbing the pans and started drying them. “What are your plans for the day, Victor?”

“Homework and cleaning,” I said.

“And you’ll be here all day working on it?”

“Probably.”

Dina huffed and speared a sausage with her fork. “Right. Okay.” She topped off her coffee and shuffled back to her seat, and I breathed out softly before pouring myself a bowl of cereal.

I was cleaning up the leftovers and the rest of the kitchen and dining room when my stepfamily swept out of the house and climbed into the car to go out for their hairstyling and makeup appointments - this was a normal ritual at this point, but. Well. Chris had once told me, and I had to laugh every time I thought of it: _you can’t fix inner ugly_.

I finished cleaning, swept up, did a quick mopping of the floor, and then threw my shoes on and ran outside to grab my bike.

Chris lived in the next subdivision over, and when I rolled up the driveway on my bike, Georgi opened the door for me and beckoned me in.

“Okay, check-in is in two hours,” Chris said as we settled in his bedroom.

“Dina and the gremlins left for their primping appointments half an hour ago,” I said.

“Cool, so they’ll be doing that until check-in,” Chris said as Georgi got the costume out of its garment bag. “Okay. Here’s how we do this. You’re going to put on the costume, Georgi’s going to fix it up last minute and roll up the legs, and then I’ll put this on you and start on your makeup.”

“The wig needs to be styled once I’ve got it on his head,” Georgi said.

“Yeah, I know.” Chris grabbed my chin and pulled it up so I was looking at him. “Okay. I know what to do.”

I ducked into Chris’s bathroom to change into the dance belt and the costume, and then Chris settled me on the bed while Georgi pinned the bottoms of the trousers up so I could walk in regular shoes without dragging the hems.

While Georgi was settling the wig cap on my head, Chris threw a towel over my chest and pinned it at my back, and then he squirted something into his palm. “Here we go,” he said, and started smearing whatever he’d put on his hand onto my face. “This is a moisturizing base,” he added as he worked. “It will make it easier to wash off the makeup afterwards.”

“Okay,” I said.

He did the same with foundation, just to “even out my skin tone” he explained, and then he pulled out a powder puff and blotted my entire face with the powder. I sneezed on him, and Georgi snickered.

Then Chris went in with a tiny brush on my eyes, batting my hands away as he started brushing eyeshadow under my eyebrows. “This is going to make your eyes look deeper-set,” he said. “It’s all an illusion.”

I let him do a full job on my eyes before he grabbed the bronzer from the weekend and a bigger brush. He put it all over my face, and Georgi whistled as he got the wig out from Chris’s closet.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing, you look different. It’s working.”

I frowned, but Chris smacked me on the shoulder and I let him keep working. He grabbed a compact full of darker powder and a weird, flat brush that was almost as big as the one he’d used for the bronzer. “What is that?” I asked.

“My cousin uses it,” he explained. “She calls it ‘contouring’, it makes your face shape different.”

“What?”

“It creates fake shadows and cheekbones,” Chris said. “Hold still.”

I waited as he swept the brush down my cheeks, up my temples, and along my jaw. Then he took a smaller brush to run down the sides of my nose. “Okay,” he said. “Here we go.”

He got out the brow gel and started working on my eyebrows, darkening them to match Georgi’s wig, and then went in with mascara on my eyelashes. “Done,” he finally said, stepping back. “Just some tinted balm for your lips, and that’s it.”

“Wig,” Georgi said, pushing him aside, and they both got the wig settled on my head. Georgi quickly adjusted it and then started picking the part along the top before he swept it all up in a ponytail and pinned it in place. “Okay. Now you’re officially done.”

Chris pulled the towel off me and then dragged me to the mirror by his closet. “What do you think?”

I stared at my reflection, unable to process what I was seeing. “Oh my god,” I said softly.

The wig looked almost natural, even up close. It was pulled back in a high ponytail, and carefully fixed onto the wig cap with invisible fasteners. I almost looked like I used to, back when my hair had been long, if it weren’t for the dark, deep red-brown color of the wig. Chris had expertly matched my eyebrows to the wig, and my skin looked smooth and poreless, lightly tanned like I spent leisure time outside instead of stuck inside an ice rink all the time. The eyeshadow indeed added depth to my eyes, muting their blue color a little, and all the contouring that Chris had done made my nose look thinner and my cheekbones even higher. I reached up a hand to touch my cheek, and the stranger in the mirror did the same.

“Meet Vitya Nikiforov,” Chris said.

“It’s a good thing your stepmother doesn’t know Russian nicknames,” Georgi said. “Otherwise you’d be giving away everything.”

“What?” Chris and I frowned at him.

Georgi made a face. “Americans,” he scoffed. “Vitya is a nickname for Viktor.”

I blinked. “That… that’s just the name my dad always called me--”

“Yeah, because it’s a diminutive for your name. Duh.”

Chris leaned back on his heels. “Interesting,” he said. “But Dina doesn’t know that, right?”

“Most likely not,” I said. Between the completely different person staring back from the mirror and that little bombshell that Georgi had dropped, I was a little dazed.

“Okay, I’ll go talk to my mom real quick to get us out to the rink. Get the jacket on.” Chris ducked out of his room and I heard him thumping down the stairs. Georgi pulled me away from the mirror and helped me into Chris’s oversized jacket, which was big enough that it would go over the costume without messing it up too badly.

Ten minutes later, I was nibbling on a bagel as Mrs. Giacometti drove us down the main street to the ice castle. She beamed at us, and I didn’t think she actually recognized me. That made me feel much better.

“Okay, let’s get your skates and get you checked in,” Georgi said as we piled out of the car, Chris hanging back to reassure his mom that he’d call her when we needed a ride home. Georgi and I headed into the building, and were stopped by a Parks and Rec worker. She directed me to the check-in, and I told Georgi where to find my skates.

Georgi peeled off for the supply closet as I stepped up to the front desk, where Yuuko was running the check-ins.

“Name?” she asked, and she didn’t even recognize me. _Awesome._

“Nikiforov,” I said, trying to pitch my voice deeper.

“Nikiforov… Nikiforov… Vitya?” She looked up at me and smiled.

I nodded.

“Like Nina Nikiforova?”

 _Mom?_ I shrugged, hiding my surprise. _How does Yuuko know her?_ My mom had died way before I was old enough to remember, and Yuuko had started working here right before my dad married Dina.

“Cool! I’m surprised at how many Russians are around here,” she said as she handed me a badge on a lanyard. “This’ll get you into the locker room. Thank you so much for participating!”

“Thanks for having me,” I said, and she beamed.

Georgi caught me heading back to the locker room and handed me my skates, and I shoved them in the little gym bag that I’d borrowed from Chris. “Good luck out there,” he said, and dashed away to join the crowd of people milling around the ticket counter.

I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and headed into the men’s locker room.

My stepbrothers weren’t there yet, but lots of other skaters I recognized were; Phichit Chulanont and Leo de la Iglesias were borrowing some of the hockey team’s cubbies, stowing their street clothes and shoes in their gear bags. There were a few junior level skaters that I recognized from their ice time during the weekend, like Guang-hong Ji. There was a handful of novice skaters, too - they were adorable, and I bit down a coo at their excited chattering.

I knew on an intellectual level that there were skaters other than Yuuri and my step-brothers training at the rink, but as more and more of them filed into the locker room, it really hit me; there were a _lot_ of us, and I had no idea how to find bravep0rk among the others. Would I even be able to?

A hush fell over the group as the door opened once again, and I knew who had come in without looking up. I sat down on the bench and pulled off my street shoes as Yuuri edged his way into the locker room, his hair slicked back and his glasses nowhere to be seen.

The younger kids murmured among themselves, but Phichit and Leo punched either of Yuuri’s shoulders as he slipped out of his jacket, revealing the _absolute sexiest_ costume I’d ever laid eyes on.

It was red and black, sort of like mine, but the color choice was where the similarities ended. Mine looked like a Zorro costume, but Yuuri’s reminded me of an abstract brush painting, the thick strokes streaking up from his waist like flames. Tiny sequins and gems dotted it, making Yuuri sparkle like some kind of ice god. The material was smooth and tight, and I couldn’t help but stare at the blatant muscle definition in his back and shoulders. My mouth went dry.

 _Down, boy._ I wasn’t here to ogle the unattainable. I refocused on lacing up.

The locker room door slammed open, and Winston breezed in with a sneer on his face. He ignored everyone else, his eyes sweeping over me without even registering me, and claimed a locker to throw his jacket into.

Rupert wasn’t long after him, and his gaze zeroed in on Yuuri as usual. He reacted in exactly the way that I almost had, his mouth dropping open, but he managed to compose himself and shake his head before straightening up and throwing his shoulders back. Chest puffed out, he sauntered past Yuuri, who wasn’t even paying attention… but Phichit was. He elbowed Leo and the two of them grinned sardonically at each other before turning back to their conversation as Yuuri finished lacing up.

Everyone was more or less ready to go when the Parks and Rec guy stepped into the locker room and called for attention, announcing the warm-up period for the first group of novices. I’d signed up as a junior level skater, so I would be waiting a while for my turn.

Everyone was stretching out their upper bodies and checking their skates, messing with their costumes, and chatting. I didn’t dare talk to anyone, so I played with my phone and kept to myself.

“Those are girl skates,” a familiar voice said, and I had to school my expression into a pleasant smile when I turned around to face Winston.

“Yeah, they’re hand-me-downs until we can get me a new pair. They work just as well!”

The voice coming out of my mouth sounded nothing like myself, and Winston squinted at me.

“Do I know you?” he asked, his mouth pulled to the side.

I ratcheted the brightness of my smile up a notch. “I have no idea. I don’t remember you at _all_.”

Winston’s eyes bugged and his mouth popped open with an audible noise, and he slunk away to nurse his bruised ego.

I breathed a sigh of relief, and slipped my phone into Chris’s duffel bag before Winston could recognize it and put two and two together.

“Nice one,” Phichit said, and I jumped in surprise. Turning around revealed that he and Leo had both been watching. Yuuri didn’t appear to be listening, but he was still there, doing some kind of pre-skate meditation.

“Seriously, those two are so full of themselves,” Phichit went on, “it doesn’t take much to put them in their places.”

I laughed. “Oh, some of _those,_ huh?”

“Unfortunately,” Leo agreed. He tilted his head. “Are you new? I don’t recognize you.”

“Yeah, you could say this is my public debut,” I said.

“Congrats, man!” Phichit said, grinning. “Welcome to the madness.” He stuck out a hand. “Phichit Chulanont.”

I took it. “Vitya Nikiforov,” I answered. “It’s an honor.”

“Oh, wow, I like you,” Phichit said.

“Leo de la Iglesia,” Leo shook my hand as well. “Good luck out there, maybe you’ll impress a sponsor.”

“I’m just here to skate,” I said, shrugging. I was a bit disappointed; no one had visibly reacted to my assumed name. Maybe bravep0rk wasn’t in here yet…

I heard snorting and then Rupert was shoving his way into the conversation, his eyes narrowed. “No one is just here to _skate_ ,” he said. “This costs money, and could decide your future. You don’t drop up to a hundred dollars on equipment and fees alone to _just skate_.”

I shrugged, my bland smile back on my face. “I guess I’m weird, then.”

Rupert’s lip actually curled at me. “So what level are you? Novice?”

“Junior, I’ve been doing this a while,” I said.

“How come I’ve never seen you?” Rupert demanded.

“I train at a different rink.”

“Dude, chill out,” Leo said, shifting so he was between my step-brother and me. “What’s with the third degree?”

“He’s a liar,” Rupert declared, pointing at me. “I’ve never seen him before, how could he know he’s at the junior level if he’s never competed?”

I kept my expression in place and shrugged. “I guess everyone will see when it’s time to skate, huh?”

“I bet you’ll suck ass and fall on your face,” Rupert said, sneering.

Phichit glared at him and pointed across the room. “Okay, not cute. Go away, you stuck-up little shithead. Nobody likes you.”

I could have pointed out the blatant falseness of that statement, but Rupert gaped at Phichit before slinking away to join his brother.

“He’s already sizing you up as competition,” Leo said, frowning. “Are you planning on competing in this season at all?”

I shook my head. “I mean, he _is_ right; it cost enough just to get here. I couldn’t dream of competing.”

“Well, still,” Phichit said, still glaring across the room at my step-brothers. “Good luck out there. We need some new blood in this scene.”

“Phichit really dislikes those two, especially the older one,” Leo said in a low voice. “They’re always trying to hang off our friend Yuuri here.”

Yuuri groaned, the first time he’d indicated that he was listening at all.

“I figure,” I said. “But that’s gotta suck.”

Yuuri nodded. “I wish they wouldn’t,” he said softly, so softly that I had to strain to hear him over the noise in the locker room.

Leo patted him on the shoulder, and he went back to staring at his locker, and I could see him visibly making himself breathe and talking to himself, probably psyching himself up. Seeing him get a little stage fright made him appear all the more human, and I forced myself to look away and give him his privacy.

My step-brothers stayed away from me for the rest of the time we were waiting, and then a Parks and Rec worker came and fetched the juniors group for warm-up. I stayed to myself for that time, and didn’t do any fancy moves that I could screw up and hurt myself with. I also had to actively avoid my step-brothers, who I wouldn’t have put it past to try and knock me down.

There were a lot more girl skaters than guys, seeing as I was one of maybe six junior men singles skaters, plus Yuuri and the other three seniors and the five novices.

The ladies were all gorgeous, and if I were into girls I would have been drooling over them as hard as I was sure Georgi was doing in the seats. Winston definitely was about to drool, but the prospect of sponsors in the audience was actually enough to keep his teenage Romeo act off the ice.

Once our warm-up session was over, we were ushered over to the roped-off area for the skaters and stood around in our skate guards. The senior ladies took the ice, and I caught sight of a flash of red hair.

The redheaded girl had shown up at Ice Castle a few more times over the past month, mostly on weekdays during the afternoon. She’d waved at me a few times on her way out, and for the most part seemed friendly. I hadn’t gotten much of a chance to watch her really skate, but every glance I got of her on the ice made me think she was definitely talented.

The senior ladies gave way to the senior men, and every eye was drawn to Yuuri, who had hidden his beautiful costume back under his Team USA jacket.

Rupert sat up a little straighter, but no one on the ice paid any attention to him. There were a few female skaters fawning over him, as usual, but no one else. That didn’t deflate him at all.

_Amazing._

I focused on my breathing, my stomach filled with butterflies. If bravep0rk wasn’t on the ice, he was in the skaters’ section with me. _Why hasn’t he found me yet?_

I had to do this, I had come this far, too far to quit now. I closed my eyes and mentally reviewed my program.

Eventually, the emcee got on the mic and the senior men got off the ice. First, the novices would be doing a synchronized routine from their recital, all in a mixed gender group. Then, it was all alphabetical.

If I’d been entered under my legal name, I’d’ve been behind my step-brothers anyway. At least I’d get to see Winston’s spectacular flame-out and Rupert’s desperate attempt at sexiness before I went out there…

I zoned out for the first few people, but blinked and roused myself when a familiar name was called - “Mila Babicheva, from Ann Arbor!”

The redhead from before glided out to center ice, smiling brightly and waving so that the sequins on her costume glimmered under the lights. She assumed her starting pose, and then her music kicked off with an airy flute solo. Her program was impressive, with strong doubles and a few solid triples, a delicate step sequence, and a truly glorious Ina Bauer. She finished to excited applause, and I mentally noted to report on her performance once I could access the skating forum again. She was worth the hype.

Phichit was up after Mila, and he was skating to a song from an old musical movie, _The King and the Skater_. I hadn’t seen it in years, but I knew enough to tell it wasn’t the theme song of the whole movie. It was definitely more slow and thoughtful, instead of the peppy upbeat tempo I remembered. Either way, Phichit attacked his program with the same kind of energy as he would have for a faster song.

Leo’s song started off like a techno Indian song before transitioning into a more mainstream American pop song, definitely familiar. He had a more lyrical style of skating, sticking to the beat and timing his various jumps and spins to the lilt of the song, mimicking the singer in his movements. It was kind of cool.

A few more ladies of both age groups performed, and then Guang-hong was up as well. He picked a sedate violin piece for his routine, and it was like watching a calm lake or a willow tree in a slight breeze. His movements were incredibly graceful and refined, and he wasn’t shying away from keeping his gestures demure and feminine. It was definitely a unique approach to the interpretation of the song.

And then. _Yuuri_.

The emcee coughed into the mic. “And now, Yuuri Katsuki, with _In Regards to Love: Eros_.”

The crowd screamed, and internally I was screaming along with them. I saw Rupert lean forward as Yuuri took the ice, blazing like a comet in the night sky.

 _You could never hope to match him_ , I thought as the Spanish guitar strummed over the speakers and Yuuri began to dance. Now that I knew what to look for, I saw it - the almost flamenco-style movements, the coy expression, and the more fluid motion of his body as he flowed into his step sequences. The town’s most beautiful woman, beckoning to her suitors, dancing playfully out of reach from the aggressive peacock of a man trying to seduce her.

But alas, the soaring strings took a new turn, and she fell victims to his charms, discarded as the playboy got what he wanted and moved on.

My heart was in my throat as I clapped for Yuuri. Even if he was clearly still working on nailing the jumps, he had the interpretation of his routine downpat. He’d get his jumps under control by the time the Grand Prix series rolled around again, I was confident of it.

Then, it was time for more of the girls and the other guys - a flurry of faces that I vaguely recognized purely through community osmosis. Everyone was in top form, but _how_ could anyone follow Yuuri’s _Eros_ and not be a little shaky?

Rupert was the first of my step-brothers to skate, and he shed his jacket to take to the ice.

I gagged - his costume was borderline inappropriate; the shirt was largely made of black mesh with strategic strips of cloth that could be considered the actual top, and his pants were probably pleather… when they weren’t also made of mesh. There was a pattern to the outfit, but what that pattern was, I had no idea. It was a lot of criss-crossing of the solid pieces of cloth and fake leather, and a weirdly high amount of golden buckles, of all things. It was like Rupert was wrapped in buckles to keep all the mesh in. _Oh my god._

“How is he even human?” I heard Phichit mutter, and I shoved a fist in my mouth to keep myself from snorting.

The first piano notes of Rupert’s tango rang out through the silent rink, and Rupert kicked off the show. He moved like a hunting jungle cat, not at all like a peacock, and I felt rather than saw Yuuri gulp to my left. Rupert’s fangirls swooned as he went into a layback and swooped past us. I glanced at Winston, who appeared to be fuming.

Rupert didn’t dare attempt any quads this time around, sticking to his best triples and his faithful doubles. He landed almost all of them solidly with ease, and I was forced to reckon with just how much he’d improved since last season. The previous year, Rupert had been one of those skaters who had been pretty good, but there were _better_ skaters ahead of him that would take the podium instead. If he kept up this kind of skating… he could actually start medaling.

If he started medaling, he would probably jump into seniors a lot sooner. On the one hand, he’d be much busier and thus out of my hair more often, but…

But…

The thought of Rupert going into seniors and turning heads made something bitter rise up in my throat. I suddenly wanted to compete so bad that I saw red.

Rupert struck his ending pose as the music came to an end. There was a lot of applause, and a spattering of polite clapping from the skaters’ section. A look at Winston revealed that he was sitting in the semi-darkness with an expression like he’d swallowed a lemon.

Once Rupert was off the ice, Winston took his place. If Rupert’s costume had been inappropriately… _sultry_ , Winston’s was definitely more of a peacock. His top appeared to be patterned after a literal peacock’s feather, and the colors swirled down his torso and legs. It clashed horribly with his hair, and I felt like my eyes were burning as the lights amplified the colors across the white ice.

One thing that had escaped my notice from the past month of hearing Winston’s music choice through the glass that seperated the lobby from the ice rink was that this particular arrangement of Vivaldi’s _The Four Seasons: Spring_ was… a techno remix.

I couldn’t contain the noise I made as the computer-generated noises and synthesizer came in behind the familiar violin melody, and I wasn’t alone. On my left, Leo’s mouth had dropped open.

 _Is this what it feels like to be high?_ I watched as Winston attempted to vogue on the ice, but was interrupted by the need to _focus_ on what he was doing.

To be honest, the song itself wasn’t too bad… but it was a misservice to have Winston skating to it. He stepped out a spin almost right away, and fell on a jump fairly soon after that. He fell twice more, and overbalanced more often than I could keep track of. He was covered in snow once the song came to an end, and he struck his final pose like he was almost doing it out of obligation. There was polite applause all over, and he quickly vacated the ice.

One more person, a junior ladies skater, and then it was my turn. _Oh, crap_.

I forced myself to deep breathe as the girl ahead of me did her routine, and I almost zoned completely out as I tried to push down my nerves.

 _Just this once_ , I reminded myself. _Just this once, for my friend. And then I’ll be done. It’ll be fine._

_Just this once._

I got up and made my way to the ice entrance as the girl ahead of me wrapped up her performance, the piano music tapering off gently in the background. She looked relieved as she stepped off the ice, and shot me a “good luck” smile. I nodded, and then… I put my mother’s blade onto the ice, and pushed away from the boards.

 _Mom_. I wondered if she ever got nervous about competing, and I wished I’d gotten to know her… Dad had always had a hard time talking about her, and I learned early on to not ask about her. I suddenly missed my dad very much, but… I couldn’t. _Not now._

I pushed those thoughts out of my head and summoned the image of my mother dancing on these very blades to the song that was about to start up.

“And now… Vitya Nikiforov, with _El Sol y El Mar_!”

A few people whispered and tittered in the audience, but I tuned them out and assumed the starting pose.

The soft strum of guitars and the pattering of drums sank into my bones, and suddenly my body felt lighter than a feather. I began to move.

In my mind, I could see it: the lonely man at the edge of the crowd, watching the town’s most beautiful woman being chased by the relentless playboy. But all that glittered was not gold, or something… no. _No._ The peacock suitor was all flash, when the bright feathers hid sharp teeth and deadly claws. He was all sharp edges and jagged lines, who wanted that?

But _me_ on the other hand, I promised smoothness and gentleness, I promised calmness, an oasis in a desert, a friendly port in a storm. _I would never ask of you anything that you weren’t ready to give,_ I cried out into the arena as I leaned into my sit-spin. _What can he give you? You’ve seen how he is with the others, don’t you value yourself?_

I launched myself into my triple loop, and a few people gasped as I landed it with very little snow. I didn’t let myself get distracted by the crowd’s reactions.

 _I’m lonely, too,_ I said as I went into an Ina Bauer. _I know how it is, but every time you look at me, I feel a little less lonely. I want you to feel it, too_.

I reached out for… for someone. Someone, who may or may not even be in the room. Yuuri or bravep0rk? Was there someone on the end of my plea? Was he listening?

 _I can’t keep smiling,_ I cried. _I can’t keep smiling like this, no one can live on just the promise of love forever!_

All too soon, I did my last spin and came to a stop, clasping my hands over my heart.

The applause startled me.

I blinked as I came back to myself, and I shook myself out of my stupor and kicked off from my spot to clear the ice for the next skater.

“Wow,” said the girl following me, and she patted my arm as she pushed off the boards. I smiled to myself as I stepped off the ice and back into the waiting area.

It was halfway through the next girl’s skate that I heard a weird hissing noise to my left. I looked up and saw Chris’s face peeking through the doorway to the hallway. His eyes were wide and he pointed towards the locker room.

I’d skated. I’d performed. I’d done it. If bravep0rk wanted to find me, he knew where I was. I made sure my blade guards were on and excused myself, sneaking back around the other skaters.

If I’d really been careful, I would have noticed my step-brothers had left as well.

“I saw Dina leaving,” Chris hissed as I let myself out into the hallway, and my blood ran cold. If she went home and saw that I was missing, I was going to be _screwed_.

“I don’t have time to drop off everything at your house,” I said, grabbing his arm and dragging him down the hallway to the locker room. All thoughts of searching out bravep0rk fled from my head. “Oh God, oh _God_ \--”

“Okay, okay,” Chris said, and we ducked into the locker room.

Everything came off and went into the duffle bag, and I pulled out my phone, street clothes, and shoes as Chris took the wig and wig cap off me to carefully wrap them in a plastic grocery bag. He packed everything for the costume up before running out of the room and into the hallway.

 _Crap._ “Wait!” I half-shouted, but he was long gone and I still had makeup on my face. I shoved my mother’s skates in the nearest cubby, not caring that it was occupied, and slapped my pockets for my phone. I couldn’t find it, even though I had literally been holding it in my hand just minutes ago. I abandoned the search for my phone and followed Chris out into the hall, making a beeline for the bathroom.

The makeup proved to be incredibly difficult to wash completely off, and it was as I was furiously scrubbing at the eyebrow gel that the door slammed open.

I jumped in surprise, and then my day went from bad to worse.

Winston stood in the doorway, arms crossed, still in his costume. “Well, well, well,” he said, his face twisted in an ugly sneer. “If it isn’t the _Loser_.”

My heart beat a little rabbit dance in my chest, and I felt lightheaded. “It’s not what it looks like,” I said, barely aware of the words coming out of my mouth.

Winston snorted, and the Rupert was next to him. “Look what I found,” he said, wagging _my cell phone_. “Just laying on the floor in the locker room. What was it doing there?”

“I dropped it,” I said, scrambling for a plausible lie. “I dropped it yesterday at work and came back here for it.”

“Right,” Rupert rolled his eyes. He and Winston exchanged nasty looks and then both of them lunged forwards and grabbed me by either arm.

“Hey-- _let me go--!_ ”

“You make a scene and Mom will dump you on the highway,” Winston hissed, and they dragged me out the back door that led to the dumpsters. I struggled the whole way, and Rupert twisted my wrist until I stopped.

“You’re in deep shit, Loser,” Winston said.

Dina’s car pulled up next to the dumpster, and then my stepmother climbed out in a towering fury. “I thought you were staying at _home_ today, Victor,” she said softly, looking like a cobra about to strike.

“I-- I lost my phone at work--”

“Interesting,” Dina said. “I remember you having it this morning.”

I gulped.

“We’ll deal with this at home,” she said. “Don’t need to call attention to your delinquency.”

“Delinquency?” I repeated. “I didn’t do anything illegal--”

“Shut up, Loser,” Rupert said, and Dina threw the back door open as they manhandled me in. My step-brothers sat on either side of me, keeping me pinned in the backseat as Dina climbed in the driver’s seat and tore out of the parking lot with us in tow.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” I tried again, giving up on lying. “I paid for everything myself, I provided my own costume and stuff--”

“Shut up,” Dina said, her voice colder than the ice I’d been skating on only a few minutes ago.

“I just wanted to skate this once, I wasn’t going to compete--”

“ _Shut up,_ ” Dina repeated, her voice now carrying a dangerous edge.

I fell silent, sick to my stomach, as Dina broke a few speed limits getting us back to the house. She pulled all the way into the garage and shut the garage before throwing the door open and letting Winston out. “Get out here,” she hissed.

I hesitated, and Rupert shoved me. I yelped and slowly began to climb out of the seat. Dina waited until I had both feet on the cement floor before grabbing me by the ear - “ _Ow!_ ” - and dragging me inside.

“Please--” I begged as Winston sprinted ahead, and then Dina was dragging me through the kitchen and down the basement stairs. “ _Ow!_ Dina, please--”

“ _Shut. Up._ ” She threw me down onto my bed and glared at me. “I don’t want to hear anything from you, you sorry little ingrate.” She spat on me, hitting me right on the cheek, and then she was stomping back up the stairs. The door slammed shut, and I wiped the spit off my face before stumbling across the basement floor and scrambling up the stairs.

I tried the doorknob, but it was locked. I fought down a jolt of terror and banged on the door. “You can’t lock me in here!” I yelled. “Dina! _Please!_ Let me out!”

“Shut up, Loser,” Rupert said on the other side, and then I heard footsteps disappearing into the distance as I was left alone once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rupert's tango: [_Valentine's Day Tango_ by Jeff Steinberg](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lUnc6ww7js4)
> 
> Winston's skate song: [_Vivaldi Spring_ by Edvin Marton](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OZOvYTetrBE)


	5. Impossible Things

They left me in the basement overnight. And then the entire next day. And then it was Monday, and I was still locked in the basement.

I was cold and had run out of the granola in my school bag, hunger was starting to gnaw at my insides when I heard the garage door slam shut upstairs.

Judging by the time, Dina had just dropped off Winston and Rupert at school. Had she called me out sick? I rolled over on my bed and drew my blankets tighter around me.

My life was as good as over. I’d come to that realization when my stepfamily hadn’t let me out of the basement to fix their breakfasts. I didn’t know how they’d known to look for me, but anything was possible… maybe Dina had recognized me after all, or maybe one of the boys had. I hadn’t really tried to disguise my voice, now that I thought about it.

Dina’s footsteps trailed away as she stomped upstairs, and I dozed off again as everything went quiet. I had a weird hazy dream, it was like the mask ball from that old David Bowie movie that Georgi had made Chris and me watch, years ago; everyone was swirling around me in bright dresses and sparkling suits, and I couldn’t see their faces, but I _knew_ that my… my prince? He had to be in the crowd… but every time I got close, someone got in between us.

The basement door slammed open and I jerked awake as Dina clomped down the stairs. How did girls walk in those heels? I’d never understand it. I blinked away what was left of my dream as my stepmother pulled the covers off my head. “You look terrible,” she said.

Well, I hadn’t been allowed upstairs to use the bathroom in over a day - don’t ask me how I solved that problem - and I probably still had makeup on my face. There was a perfect sarcastic response somewhere in my brain, but I was surprised and a bit wary. What was Dina doing down in the basement? Was she going to ship me off to an orphanage after all?

“God, I have to do _everything_ ,” Dina said, and shoved at my shoulder. “Get up.”

I blinked at her.

“Up. Come on. _Get up._ ”

“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice raspy. Yep, I sounded like crap. Great.

“I’m moving you upstairs,” Dina said. “Clearly, I can’t expect you to behave if I make you sleep in the basement.”

_What?!_

My mouth dropped open. “What?” That was literally the only word I could manage. My mind couldn’t get past it - _what? What? What?!_ \- and I could only lay there as Dina got more and more annoyed.

“Victor, _get up_ ,” she repeated. “Unless you _want_ to stay down here.”

“Why?” I finally managed to ask. It was insane. _It was insane_. _What?!_ “Why now? I thought you were mad at me--”

“I did a lot of thinking,” Dina said, cutting me off. “This is the only conclusion I could come to. Get up, Victor. Help me carry your things upstairs.”

I climbed out of my bed, still half-dazed, and started gathering my stuff - I didn’t have much of my own, just mostly clothes and school supplies - and Dina let me throw it all into a laundry basket to take up to the spare bedroom.

Back when we rebuilt the house after the fire, Dina had taken the bedroom that had belonged to me before Dad died, and she’d turned it into basically another closet with an unused bed. I was again stunned into silence when Dina opened the door to my old room and there were none of her clothes to be found. It was like an empty hotel room.

Dina took my clothes and started opening drawers to stuff things into. It didn’t take long to put everything I owned away, and I was too busy trying to cycle through the _what? Why? What?! Why?!_ that was still echoing in my head.

She had me make the bed up and throw my used blankets and sheets into the washer, and then dragged me downstairs into the kitchen. “Sit,” she said, pushing me into a chair _at the table_. “Just sit. We can talk while you eat.”

 _What?!_ “Uh,” I said, trying to get up, but Dina pushed me back down. “Uh, you don’t want me to cook?”

“Not today,” she said, and her heels clicked on the wooden floor as she headed for the fridge.

I watched - okay, I stared - as she pulled a carton of eggs from the shelf and started messing around on the stove. She opted to crack the eggs over a frying pan and scramble them while they were on the burner - I literally looked up how to make good, fluffy scrambled eggs after Winston had started complaining about me doing exactly that, but then again no one had cooked for me since my dad had died - and then she popped pre-sliced bread into the toaster. I was still a little stunned when she set a plate of the scrambled eggs, slightly burned toast, and a glass of orange juice in front of me.

“Eat up,” she said, crossing her arms. “You haven’t really eaten since… God, since Saturday, have you?”

I stared up at her. “Why are you being nice to me?”

Dina sighed and pulled out the chair to my left so she could collapse onto it. “I haven’t been fair to you,” she said, and then gestured at my plate. “What, do you think I poisoned that? _Eat_.”

I took a forkful of eggs and popped it into my mouth, then immediately felt something sharp and crunchy on my tongue. I fought down a wince and forced myself to swallow the mouthful, shell and all. I’d have to just stick to the toast.

“Anyway, I haven’t been fair to you.” Dina repeated, and scrunched up her forehead. “I mean, I’m totally playing into the stereotype of the wicked stepmother, right? And I just realized that that was totally unfair of me.”

I didn’t say anything, just nibbled on the toast.

“So from now on, you’ll stay in that bedroom until it’s time for you to move on from this house,” she nodded. “It’s only fair. I’ve made you clean for us so long, and cook for us--”

“Four years,” I said. “Four years. I’ve cooked and cleaned for you for four years.”

I saw a muscle jump in Dina’s temple. “Yes. Well.” She smiled tightly. “In all fairness, you did do a better job than the boys could have.”

 _Obviously._ I pushed the plate away from me. “What is this?” I demanded. Something wasn’t right.

Dina opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off by the doorbell. “Just a minute,” she said, getting back up.

Something _really stank_ about this. Crazy ideas flashed through my head - make a break for it out the back door? Where would I go? Chris and Georgi both lived in different neighborhoods, and my bike was still at Chris’s house.

I couldn’t think of anything else, so I shoved my chair away from the table and was halfway across the kitchen floor before Dina reappeared in the doorway, this time flanked by a man in a suit and a woman in a sweater-vest.

“Where are you going?” she asked, and that tightly-strung smile was back on her face.

I froze. “Uh. Th-there was a-a-- a thing in the yard--”

“Really, Victor,” she said with a theatrical roll of her head. “Were you going to try running away again?”

Again? _What?_

“What?” I said blankly.

“And the lies,” she added, sniffling loudly. “See what I mean? I just can’t _live_ with it anymore!”

The sweater-vest lady patted my stepmother’s arm. “Just go take a breather, Mrs. Montgomery. Why don’t you sit down in the living room while we talk to Victor?”

Dina nodded and dramatically flounced off. I couldn’t help but stare, something cold creeping into the pit of my stomach.

The suit guy had pulled another chair out from the kitchen table and gestured at the one I’d left empty. “Victor? I’m Jim, and this is Gail. Can we have a little chat? Nothing serious.”

“Uh,” I said.

Gail slowly took a step towards me, like I was a spooked animal. “We just want to talk, Victor.”

“You’re creeping me out,” I said, edging away from them.

Both of them sighed. “Victor, we’re from MDHHS,” Jim said. “That stands for Michigan Department of Health and Human Services.”

My blood ran cold and my mouth went dry.

“Your stepmother called us to report an escalation of your behavior over the past month, and she wants to release you into our care so you can be put into a foster home--”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, my brain caught on the words ‘foster home’ and nothing else.

Gail sighed. “Victor, I know living with a stepmother can be difficult, but that doesn’t make it right to steal from her--”

“I didn’t steal from her!”

“--or skip school,” Gail kept going, and I gaped at her.

“She locked me in the _basement_ ,” I said. “She locked me down there, and left me there all day yesterday!”

“She did what?” Both of them blinked.

“She only let me out, like, an hour ago! After she got back from driving her kids to school!”

“I would _never_ ,” Dina said, and we all jumped in surprise. No one had noticed her coming back into the doorway. “What are you accusing me of, Victor? Haven’t you tried this enough? He’s been doing this for years,” she added, patting at her eyes. “He started in middle school, telling the school administration that I was abusing him. We were all reeling from the death of his father, and he had to go and make things worse after _everything_ I tried to do for him!”

“You made me _sleep_ _in the basement_ ,” I snapped at her. “Ever since they rebuilt the house! I cooked and cleaned for you for _four years_ , you just admitted it! I’ve been doing your sons’ homework for them because they keep threatening to get me kicked out of the house if I don’t, or else Rupert punches me! _You don’t even let me eat the same food as you three!_ ”

“Then what’s that?” Dina asked, pointing triumphantly at my abandoned plate.

It all became blindingly clear in an instant. “That--”

“More lies,” she cut in, crossing her arms. “And what about the basement? Your bedroom is upstairs with the rest of ours.”

“You literally moved me up there this morning!” I said weakly, but Gail was frowning and Jim was getting up from his seat.

“Let’s go take a look at the basement,” he said, and Dina pointed at the door. “Okay, Victor, show us where you slept.”

I knew it was useless, but Gail put her hand on my shoulder and guided me down the stairs, a step behind me the whole time. “Gosh,” she said as we felt a blast of cold air. “It’s chilly down here.”

“The heater doesn’t work downstairs,” I muttered.

“Exactly why I would _never_ make anyone sleep down here,” Dina sniffed.

Once we were downstairs, Jim and Gail poked around. Jim’s face was creepily blank, and Gail was frowning the whole time. I felt queasy as I realized how it must look - Dina had shoved my mattress behind a workbench, and the spot that had been my ‘bedroom’ ever since the house had been rebuilt was completely cleared for the first time in years.

“I can show you his bedroom,” Dina added, and she was doing a convincing job of sounding wounded.

“That would be great, thank you,” Gail said.

This time, Jim had his hand on my shoulder as we made our way up the two flights of stairs to the top floor. I wanted to throw up as Dina threw the door open to the bedroom she’d put me in. “It’s the same room as he had before the house fire,” she added.

“There’s not a lot in here,” Jim said.

“True, but I would _never_ make anyone stay in the basement,” Dina insisted.

“But you did,” I said, only halfheartedly.

“Victor,” Gail said softly, and I looked up at her. Her forehead was crinkled and her eyebrows drawn together. “Can we have that talk now?”

I didn’t fight them as they shepherded me back downstairs to the kitchen. Dina went out in the backyard to chain-smoke some more as Jim read off the list of complaints my stepmother had made to them on Saturday, after they’d dragged me back home from the Open. Other than the “constant lying and trying to get Mrs. Montgomery in trouble with the school board” there was “stealing money” and “tormenting Mrs. Montgomery’s biological sons”. I put up a token protest, but I knew they didn’t believe me anymore. Dina had been careful to rearrange the truth so that her reports looked legit, and I was kicking myself internally for not realizing she was setting up the perfect con by being nice to me just an hour ago. _That bitch._

“I think it would be best if you came with us,” Jim finally said. “Our office will work with your stepmother to get you transferred to our custody. You’ll get out of school, too. Won’t that be fun?”

“I don’t want to get taken out of school,” I said, fighting tears. “What about my friends here?”

“You don’t have to lose contact with them,” Gail reassured me. “Cell phones are a thing.”

“I-- Dina has my cell phone--”

“Absolutely not,” Dina said, flicking the butt of her cigarette away and shutting the sliding door behind her. “I purchased you that cell phone with my own money and you repaid me by deceiving me. You have forfeited that cell phone to me with your actions.”

I deflated.

“Cell phones are really cheap,” Gail spoke up again. “Victor, you’ll be able to get another one, I’m sure. You’ll be able to talk to your friends again, don’t worry.”

Dina raised an eyebrow at me, and I didn’t say anything for the rest of the time that the case workers - because that’s what Jim and Gail were, turned out - were at the house. Jim took me upstairs to ‘my bedroom’ to pack up my things again, and Dina _kindly_ allowed me to take an old duffel bag to stuff all my clothes into. I took my school binders and notebooks, leaving the textbooks stacked neatly on the desk that I’d never even gotten to sit at, and then the room was left pretty much how it had been when Dina had moved me into it _that very morning_.

“So, Victor, did you play any sports in school?” Jim asked, and I shook my head. “You seem like a sporty guy, maybe you can start that up? It’s a great way to build friendships and teamwork, and you can get a scholarship for college if you’re really good.”

I shrugged.

Jim gave up trying to get me to engage as soon as my duffel bag was tossed in the trunk of the agency car. Gail got me settled in the backseat, and then we were pulling out of the driveway and onto the street. The last thing I saw before we drove away was Dina slamming the door to my parents’ house.

This was it. My life was over. I’d been thrown out.

I finally broke down and cried, and Gail tried to comfort me from the front seat, but I curled up in a ball and buried my face in my knees. After I’d basically cried myself out, I dozed off a little as we pulled onto the highway and left Perrault, my school, my parents’ house, my friends, and Ice Castle behind us.

I suddenly remembered: what would bravep0rk think? _I didn’t even get to meet him,_ I thought. He probably thought I had given up on meeting him, had deserted him at the Open. But… but he hadn’t even tried to find me either…

The Open had been a mistake. I was an idiot, and I’d ruined my own life for _nothing_.

I closed my eyes as the forests whizzed by outside the car window, and fell into another uneasy sleep.

 

I spent the day in an office with either Gail or Jim watching me, and I just kept to myself as they made phone calls and talked with people about me, and other kids they were dealing with. Some of the other cases sounded really awful - one kid was literally being abused by his own birth parents, and honestly he sounded like he needed to get out of that house more than I did from mine.

At one point, I was going through my school notebooks out of boredom when I found my notes for my exhibition skate. I felt my entire mood go sour and I tore the pages out so I could shred them by hand. When I got up to dump my handmade confetti in the recycling bin, I saw Gail watching me with a concerned look on her face.

“It’s nothing,” I muttered, collapsing back in the chair and going back over my French notes. I was too tired to be polite and pleasant, and too bitter to care.

The hours dragged on, and I at one point got bored enough to just lay my head on the desk I was stuck at and completely doze off.

Eventually, Gail was nudging me awake. “Victor, you’re very lucky.”

“Yeah?” I yawned, my sarcasm drowned out by my tiredness. “Really?”

“We’ve found a nice foster home for you, and they’re willing to take you on long-term. They’ve fostered before, too, so you’ll have an older sister when you arrive.”

“Great,” I said flatly. “More fake siblings. Just what I need.”

Gail sighed. “I know things look rough now, but this is really a good thing. You’ve got to look at things like that, sometimes.”

“Sometimes I wish I’d died in that house fire too,” I said fake-cheerfully. “How about that?”

Gail just looked sad. “I hope you change your mind about that,” she said. “I know you don’t mean that.”

“Sure,” I said, laying my head back down. “Whatever.”

 

The offices were mostly shut down and most of the workers had left for the day when someone knocked on the doorframe to Gail’s office.

I looked up at the man standing awkwardly in the hallway. He was handsome, in a broad sort of way, and was wearing a nice suit. He looked Asian, at least as far as I knew, and had nicely parted dark hair and a clean-shaved face. His suit was way too nice for him to be working for the state government.

He caught sight of me and his face split into a grin. “Oh, is this Victor?”

I shrank away from him. “What?”

“You must be Mr. Castillo,” Gail said, standing.

“Paolo,” he said, offering a hand that Gail shook. “My wife couldn’t come, she’s taking our daughter to her training, but they’ll be back later in the evening so Victor will get to meet them soon.”

“What?” I said again, my heart pounding.

“Victor, this is one of the foster parents I mentioned before,” Gail said gently. “He’s going to bring you to your new home.”

“Hmph.” I knew how things worked in foster homes. Kids got shuffled from place to place ad nauseum, and then they got kicked out of the system at eighteen and dropped off the face of the Earth. I already knew I’d have to do something like join the military as soon as I was of age, because I wasn’t sure I’d even have a shot at college. I’d figured it out once I’d run out of French homework to go through.

“You’re very lucky,” Gail reminded me. “The Castillos jumped at the chance to take you in.”

I didn’t answer, and Gail sighed.

“It’s okay, he’ll warm up to us,” Mr. Castillo said. “Do you need help packing up?”

I shoved my French notebook back into my duffel and stood up. “I’m fine.”

“I can carry that for you--”

“No, I’m fine,” I said again, and slung the strap over my shoulder.

“I can already tell you’re a strong young man,” Mr. Castillo said, backing out into the hallway and waiting for me to follow. “Tell me about yourself, Victor. What kind of music do you listen to?”

I shrugged.

“Do you have a favorite food?”

I shook my head.

Mr. Castillo sighed. “Well, we’ll figure it out. Any sports?”

I shook my head again.

“What do you do for fun? Do you read?”

“I don’t do anything,” I said.

“You don’t? That’s odd.” Mr. Castillo waved to Gail, who smiled and waved back. “When I was your age, I was always busy with clubs and sports.”

“That’s nice,” I muttered.

“Did you get into any clubs at your old school?”

“I worked.”

Mr. Castillo frowned. “I thought that you’re only fourteen.”

“Yep.”

“And you were working?”

“Yep.”

Mr. Castillo was still frowning when we got to the lobby, but he put a smile back on his face and said goodnight to the receptionist. “Where did you work?” he asked as he led the way to the parking garage.

“My stepmother’s ice rink.”

“That was nice of her to let you work there,” he said slowly, but trailed off and came to a stop suddenly. “Oh. She didn’t ‘let you work there,’ did she?”

“No,” I said. “But you probably don’t believe me anyway.”

“Try me,” he said, and nodded at a really nice-looking car in the visitor’s parking area. “That’s mine. We can put your things in the trunk.”

I sighed and followed him across the garage, and he tossed my duffel in his car’s trunk before nodding at the front. “Shotgun?”

I shrugged and let myself into the passenger’s side.

“I wonder, why do people call that seat ‘shotgun’?” Mr. Castillo wondered, settling in the driver’s seat. “Oh, I had a classical album playing when I got here, is that okay?”

“It’s fine.”

Mr. Castillo got the car started and turned down the volume of the stereo. “So. Tell me about your job at the ice rink.”

“I worked the front desk,” I said. “Not much else to it.”

“How often?”

“Every day after school,” I said. “And then most weekends, too.”

“That’s… that’s kind of against labor laws,” Mr. Castillo raised his eyebrows. “Did you get paid?”

“No.”

Mr. Castillo frowned. “Victor, why did your stepmother have you working at the ice rink every day?”

“Because I was expensive to feed and clothe,” I said, looking out the window as the car pulled out into evening traffic.

“Did she give you an allowance?”

“No.”

Mr. Castillo was silent for a moment. “Why?”

“She didn’t want to.” I shrugged. “Or something.”

“Did you have… a cell phone? For work?”

“Yeah, but she took it from me before the case workers took me away.”

Mr. Castillo made a weird noise, and I looked over at him. He looked kind of angry. “Victor, just one more question… did your stepmother ever treat you like one of her own sons?”

I laughed. “That would have been nice.”

“Right.” Mr. Castillo shook his head. “After you’re settled in at home, I need you to tell me everything your stepmother did to you while you lived with her.”

“What, you actually believe me?”

“I have no reason not to,” he said. “Especially since I can find out if you were actually working every day like you said.”

“Why do you care?” I asked, confused.

“Because I don’t like it when children are mistreated, even when they’re teenagers and not little kids anymore.” Mr. Castillo shot me a wry smile. “Aria - my wife - works with the family courts sometimes, so I hear about it a lot.”

“Y--” I felt like my throat was closing up. My eyes started stinging. “I--”

“Has anyone ever believed you?” Mr. Castillo asked as he came to a stop at a red light. “Have you told anyone about this?”

“Sh-- Dina. If I ever told anyone. She always said she’d put me in foster care and I’d disappear forever--”

Mr. Castillo looked like he was clenching his jaw. “She threatened you?”

I nodded.

“Right. Okay.” Mr. Castillo nodded back at me. “Let’s get you home and then I can make some calls. Actually, I’ll have to make those calls first thing in the morning because everyone’s gone home, but I’ll make sure to take good notes.”

We drove in silence for a while, and then I coughed. “What do you do?” I asked, playing with my seatbelt.

“I work for the University of Michigan,” he said. “I’m a school administrator.”

I blinked. “Sounds interesting.”

“Hah. Sometimes it isn’t, but it pays the bills.”

I chewed on my lip. “And what does Mrs. Castillo do?”

“She’s a partner in a law firm, but she’ll do pro bono work for the family courts sometimes, like I said.”

I nodded. Well, that explained why everything was so nice and fancy, at least so far.

“Say, Victor, do you like opera?” Mr. Castillo edged the volume on the stereo up a little. “This song was the song we played at our wedding, for our first dance.”

“Mm.”

“It sounds silly,” Mr. Castillo smiled at me. “But you want to know something funny? The first time I ever met Aria, she mentioned that she liked opera music, and I jumped through all sorts of hoops to get ahold of these insanely expensive tickets just so I could ask her on a date.”

I didn’t say anything, and he kept talking.

“I didn’t really care for opera before that night, but I took one look at her when this song was playing, and she was so _into_ it,” he said as the singer went all out on the CD. “She was crying. And I asked her why she was so sad, and she told me the story of the opera during the intermission. _Stammi Vicino, Non Te Ne Andare_. A story about lovers separated by a war. The singer right now, he’s talking about how lonely he is, and he’s begging his soulmate to stay close to him.” Mr. Castillo took a deep breath. “Aria was so emotional about it, and so in love with the story and the performance, and that was when I really fell in love with her.”

“That’s… sweet,” I said.

He smiled again. “Have you ever been in love?”

I thought about bravep0rk and how he hadn’t even bothered to find me. “Sort of. Nothing happened, though.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mr. Castillo said, patting my arm. Weirdly, I didn’t mind that. “But you’re young, I’m sure you’ll fall in love again.”

“I don’t really feel like caring about it,” I admitted. “I… it takes too much energy.”

“It does,” Mr. Castillo agreed. “But, it’s so worth it.”

“I guess.”

Mr. Castillo kept up a pretty steady stream of conversation until we got off the highway at Zeeb, and then we were pulling into a forested area outside Ann Arbor. The road switched from paved to gravel, and I made a face.

“Ah, yeah,” Mr. Castillo laughed. “The county has to pave these roads, but you know how it is.”

“Broke?” I asked, and Mr. Castillo laughed even harder.

“Yeah, got it in one.”

“You’re lucky you live so close to your work,” I said as he turned off the gravel road onto a neighborhood street.

“Well, we actually had our house built a good few years ago,” Mr. Castillo said. “And we picked this area specifically because it was close to the university.” The car turned down a cul-de-sac and then Mr. Castillo poked a garage door remote hidden on the sun visor. The house nearest to us lit up as the garage door opened, and Mr. Castillo pulled the car up the driveway and into the garage.

“Home sweet home,” he said as he turned off the car and popped the trunk. “Let’s get you settled in, the girls should be home soon.”

He beat me to the trunk and grabbed my duffel bag, nodding as he carried it to the door to the house.

“Oh, before we go in…” he hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. “We… you aren’t afraid of dogs, are you?”

I blinked. “No, not really.”

“Okay. Good! Great! We have… four. Dogs. I should have made sure that was okay with you--”

“You have _four_ dogs?” I repeated.

“They’re all smaller dogs, and all hypoallergenic,” he reassured me. “Cockapoos. Cocker spaniel and poodle mixes. They’re all very friendly.”

“And you have _four_ of them?”

“Well, we couldn’t stop with just one,” he said, smiling. “Do you want to meet them?”

I felt excited for the first time that day. “Yes, please!”

Mr. Castillo made sure the garage door was closed and then raised his eyebrows at me. “Brace yourself.”

 

The dogs were _wonderful_. They swarmed my legs as soon as Mr. Castillo opened the door.

“The big one there is Duke,” Mr. Castillo pointed to the all-black dog that was jumping on me and sniffing at my hands. Another one pawed at my ankle. “That girl is Queenie. The brown one is Prince, and the little white one is Duchess.”

“Oh my god they’re so cute,” I moaned, falling to my knees and getting a facefull of wiggling doggy kisses. “I love them!”

“Well, they all seem to like you,” Mr. Castillo laughed as the four of them bowled me over so they could keep licking my face and neck.

“I can die happy,” I said, but Mr. Castillo whistled and I heard a bag rustling.

“Who wants to show Victor how we sit?”

All the dogs stampeded after him into the kitchen and sat almost in perfect unison. I heaved myself up from the floor and had to laugh at the sight of all four dogs staring at Mr. Castillo - or, specifically, the treat bag in his hand - all perfectly still, except for their little short tails wagging wildly. I got up off the floor so I could wipe my face and join Mr. Castillo in the kitchen.

“They’ll shake your hand, too,” he said, tossing me a treat, and the dogs’ heads all swiveled so they could stare at me.

I giggled and crouched down next to Duchess. “Shake?”

She immediately put her tiny little paw in my hand and panted.

“Aw, good girl,” I gave her the treat, and Prince put his paw on my knee. “What?” I said to him, and he whined.

“Aw,” Mr. Castillo handed me another treat. I made to give it to Prince, but Duke tried to steal it. “Oh, wow,” I said, pulling my hand back.

“Yeah, Duke thinks he’s really slick.” Mr. Castillo was laughing. “He’s actually the youngest.”

“He’s so _big_ , though!” I said.

“Yeah, because he keeps stealing the others’ food.”

“Aw, does no one give you enough treats?” I scratched Duke’s head, and Duke licked my hand.

“Trust me, he’ll give you puppy dog eyes for everything edible and a few things that aren’t.” Mr. Castillo tossed another treat into the air, and Duke caught it. “He’s also really into fetch, we can throw a ball in the yard for hours and he won’t get sick of it.”

Prince nosed at my hand again, and I gave him his treat. Mr. Castillo got Queenie to stand on her back legs and twirl a little before he tossed her one last treat, and then spread his empty hands. “All done,” he said, and the dogs mobbed me instead.

Mr. Castillo rescued me again by shepherding all of them outside and then helping me back up onto my feet again. “C’mon,” he said. “We’ve got a room all set for you, let’s get you settled in.”

The bedroom was really… cozy. It looked to be about the same size as the one Dina had tricked me into moving into, the one that I had grown up in until the fire, but it was painted a warm light brown color that made me think of honey on toast, for some reason. The bed was a twin, and It was already made up with sheets and blankets. Mr. Castillo went over to the closet and pulled what turned out to be a huge featherket from the shelf up top. “It doesn’t get too cold for a bit, but if you want it…”

“I think I’ll be okay,” I said, a little dazed. The room actually _felt_ warm. It smelled nice, and it felt warm and I felt calm just standing in the middle of it.

“There’s the dresser,” Mr. Castillo gestured at it. “Let’s put your clothes away, cool?”

I dropped my duffel bag on the floor, suddenly ashamed. “I don’t really… I don’t have a lot--”

“No worries, Aria will probably take you on an adventure at the Meijer down the road.” Mr. Castillo patted my shoulder. “Trust me, you’ll have a ball. She’s like a drill sergeant. But funnier.”

I stared at him, and he chuckled. “Trust me on this,” he reassured me. “Now, let’s unpack what you already have and then we can… hm.” He picked up my duffel and set it on the bed. “Are you hungry? We wanted to have a welcome meal, but our daughter had skating practice tonight and we haven’t managed to get a third car yet.”

I paused in pulling my clothes out of the duffel. “Your daughter skates?”

“Yes! We’re very proud of her, she’s going to compete internationally this year.” He beamed. “She qualified for her first senior Grand Prix series.”

I blinked. “Sh-- huh.” I couldn’t think of anyone named Castillo in the area that was competing in the Grand Prix…

“Do you follow skating? I know you worked at a rink…” Mr. Castillo pulled out one of the drawers and started folding shirts to fit inside it. “Unless that’s off-limits?”

“I… I love ice skating,” I admitted, picking at my jeans. “My parents both skated. My mother competed. I used to skate, before my dad died.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

I shrugged. “It… sucked.”

“I’m still sorry, Victor.”

I ducked my head as unwanted tears sprang into my eyes again. “Thanks,” I finally managed.

“I won’t bring it up again if you don’t want me to,” Mr. Castillo said again, but I shook my head.

“No, it’s fine. I follow skating, I used to go to school with Yuuri Katsuki.”

“Oh, wow,” Mr. Castillo raised his eyebrows. “Did you ever get to talk to him?”

“Few times. He trained at my stepmother’s rink. He’s nice, but his coach is loud and angry.”

Mr. Castillo laughed. “Mila’s coach is kind of like that, too. Must be a Russian thing.”

I froze. “Wait. Mila?” It couldn’t be. It was impossible. “What’s your daughter’s full name?”

“Ah, we adopted her too, but she kept her birth parents’ surname,” Mr. Castillo nodded. “Her full name is Mila Babicheva.”

“Holy shhhhhhhhiitake mushrooms.”

Mr. Castillo burst into laughter. “Nice save.”

“Wait, you’re-- you-- _Mila Babicheva?!_ ”

“Yes, we adopted her a few years ago,” Mr. Castillo wiped at his face - I’d made him laugh so hard he’d started crying. “We started fostering her when she was still very young, and the thought of giving her up was unbearable, so we built this house and officially adopted her. So you know her, huh?”

“She’s skated at Ice Castle, she was at the Open,” I said, still reeling. “Holy… cow.”

“Good catch,” Mr. Castillo grinned at me. “Well, you’ll get along with her! She lives and breathes figure skating, but I recently introduced her to the wonders of _Battlestar Galactica_ and _Stargate_. Aria says I’ve created a monster.”

I sat down on the bed. “Can I just have a minute to process this?”

Of course, that was when the garage door opened again - I could hear it revving up through the walls.

“Oh, there they are now!” Mr. Castillo peered out the window. “Go ahead and take a minute if you need one,” he added, nodding. “I know this is all crazy. I’ll go get the dogs inside, you can shut the door if you don’t want them running in here.”

“I don’t mind it,” I said, dazed.

“Okay, take all the time you need, but the girls are excited to meet you.” Mr. Castillo patted me on the shoulder again and left me to work through… _everything_.

I flopped down onto the bed and tried to breathe, but my brain felt fuzzy and full of screaming voices now that I was alone. It was crazy. _This_ was crazy. This couldn’t be real.

The tears came out of nowhere, and I buried my face in one of my shirts. _What even happened to me?_ Nothing made sense. Why was Mr. Castillo being so nice to me? No one at the human services office had believed me about Dina… why had Dina--

This had to be a trick. Dina wouldn’t have thrown me out if she knew that kind people would take me in. But Mr. Castillo was so… _nice_ \--

Maybe this was just something to get my hopes up, and then the Castillos would hand me off to another place that wasn’t as clean and desirable. Maybe it was all a cruel cosmic joke. My entire life was a cruel cosmic joke.

“Oh my god,” a woman’s voice said from the doorway, and I froze. “Are you okay? Oh no, what happened?”

I couldn’t find my voice in the time it took for the woman to cross the bedroom and kneel down next to the bed. “Victor? Are you all right?”

“Please don’t--” I managed, and then a soft hand was touching my arm before quickly pulling away.

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart,” the woman said. “Can I help you? I don’t know what to do unless you tell me why you’re crying.”

“This is too nice,” I finally burst out. “This isn’t real, you’re not keeping me here--”

The woman gasped, and then I felt the bed sink down as she sat down next to me. “Victor, dear, do you really think that?”

“It has to be true,” I said, half-hysterical. “It has to, it doesn’t make sense--”

“Can I touch you?”

I fell silent and made myself pull the shirt away from my face. “Why are you being nice to me?” I finally asked.

The woman sitting on the bed looking sadly down at me had to be in her late thirties, and she was really pretty, as pretty as Mr. Castillo was handsome. She was dark-skinned, with her hair in what looked like a thousand tiny braids that were swept into a big ponytail at her neck, and her skin was as smooth as porcelain. Her dark eyes were shimmering, and I realized she was tearing up when she sniffled and pressed a hand to her face. “I’m being nice to you because you deserve it,” she said. “And I’m sorry if anyone made you feel differently.”

“I don’t get it,” I said, starting to cry again.

“It’s okay,” she said, and she pulled me into her arms.

 

My first couple of days in the Castillo home were quiet, and everyone mostly left me alone to adjust. I didn’t get to see my new foster sister much because she was gone for school by the time I woke up, and Mrs. Castillo usually left for work around eight in the morning, but she always made sure to make some kind of breakfast for me and wake me up to say goodbye for the day before she headed out. Mr. Castillo had taken a leave of absence from work to stay home and help me feel more at home, and after the first day of hiding in my new room with only the dogs to keep me company, I ventured out into the rest of the house. Mr. Castillo was overjoyed when he caught sight of me standing awkwardly in the kitchen, and took me on a tour of the house.

The Castillo house was a bit smaller than the one I’d just left, but I liked it a lot better. They had made sure that every inch of their home was just that - a _home_ , with dog beds absolutely everywhere. It looked gorgeous, and comfortable. Dina had decorated her house like she’d gone through a catalogue and matched each room to a theme from a collection, but the Castillos had merely thrown their rooms together over the years and lovingly took care of their things. I saw countless photos on the wall, of Mr. and Mrs. Castillo when they were dating, at their wedding, and on tons of exotic vacations. And then when they’d taken in Mila, she appeared constantly throughout the house as well: pictures of her dance recitals and of her homecoming dresses and just cute candids, polaroids that someone had liked enough to stick in frames and put on the wall.

There was an entire section dedicated to her figure skating pictures, along with framed newspaper clippings and an actual case for all the medals she’d won. I felt a little envious as I looked down at the silvers and bronzes and the handful of golds, all from local and national competitions. Something told me that Mila was going to be taking the world by storm at her first Grand Prix, and there was a good chance I’d get to watch it.

But… I wondered if this could have been my life too, if my dad hadn’t died…

I didn’t linger on the skating wall, and Mr. Castillo showed me how to work all the televisions and the DVD player in the basement - oh, their basement was fully finished and actually kind of warm, with carpeted floors and painted walls and actual lighting, and there was an office set up in the back with a big desktop computer and a phone, and the front area was centered around a huge entertainment center with a _Playstation_ and a big-screen TV, and the couches were soft and plush and covered in blankets and pillows, and I wouldn’t have minded having to sleep down here _at all_.

There was another office upstairs, near the front door, and it looked like an old-fashioned library. There was a big globe like in my old geography classroom, but Mr. Castillo popped it open to reveal a bunch of wine bottles. “I know you’ll be tempted, but we don’t really let Mila drink unless we’re with her--”

“I don’t really want to,” I said honestly, and Mr. Castillo had smiled at me as he popped the secret globe closed.

The kitchen wasn’t as big as Dina’s, but it looked well-loved. There was a counter-bar with stools, and a nice kitchen table that had to be as old as I was judging by the stains and scratches on its surface. The dining room was a little dusty, and Mr. Castillo admitted they didn’t use it except for when there was company over. The last room was the family room, with another TV and more comfy couches and blankets, and another bookshelf filled with actually interesting books. I saw a worn copy of _The Hobbit_ in there, and a bunch of other things that I actually kind of wanted to read, but especially _The Hobbit_ \- I remembered watching the old cartoon movie with my dad and really liking it.

The upstairs was all bedrooms, four of them in total. My room wasn’t even the smallest - that was the last one, which was reserved for guests. Mila’s room was about the same size, and it had been painted a light sky blue and covered in posters of everything from figure skaters to pop stars and celebrities. She had her own desk with a silver Dell laptop left plugged in, and bookshelves of her own. The room was a little messy, with clothes on the bed and hanging off her chair, but otherwise it was a lot cleaner than either Rupert’s or Winston’s. I guess it was true that girls were naturally neater than boys.

The master bedroom was modestly-sized, with a big walk-in closet - actually, all the rooms had walk-in closets. That was _so cool_. The master bathroom was only a little bigger than the other bathroom on the floor, and that was because the shower and the bathtub were separate. Both bathrooms were really nice, though, and had skylights to let the sunlight in. The downstairs bathroom on the main floor was a pretty basic one, and there was actually a bathroom in the basement that had a shower in it, just in case. That was actually really cool, too.

Their laundry room was in their mudroom, right off the garage, and their backyard had a huge deck with a grill and everything you’d need to have a nice barbecue. They had a pretty swing that seated three people, and I wanted to lay down on it even though the air was still chilly. There wasn’t a pool, but I didn’t really miss that.

The backyard was fenced in, so the dogs bolted out the door the minute that Mr. Castillo slid it open, and he coaxed me out and handed me a rubber ball. Duke immediately zeroed in on it, and I ended up throwing the ball for him at least fifty times before my arm started getting tired. The other dogs rolled around on the thick grass and played in the leaves, and it was really cute to just watch them.

After awhile, it got too nippy to stay outside without a real jacket, so Mr. Castillo let us back in and I helped in wiping the dogs’ paws off before they got in past the kitchen. Mr. Castillo showed me where to find everything in the kitchen and started heating up milk in a saucepan for hot cocoa. “This is how my mom used to do it,” he explained. “Aria and Mila just stick a mug of milk in the microwave but I prefer it this way when I’m at home.”

He let me poke around the fridge and the pantry - everything seemed to be pretty healthy, but I saw a bit of junk food too. “Should you have potato chips and stuff when Mila’s in the middle of a competitive season?”

“Oh, her diet plan allows for some less nutritional foods in moderation,” Mr. Castillo said, stirring the milk on the stove. “Cutting her off completely would make her crave it more, at least that’s what she says. We compromise, and she’s able to keep herself in shape just fine. She definitely has a bit of a soft spot for fancy coffee, and frozen yogurt.”

“Yum,” I said, wondering how frozen yogurt could possibly be that much of a treat. As for coffee, I’d never really had it before.

“You want marshmallows? Or whipped cream?”

“Marshmallows are fine,” I said, and Mr. Castillo handed me a steaming mug before dropping a handful of tiny marshmallows into it. “Wow,” I said, breathing in the steam.

“Try it, I promise it tastes better than it smells.”

I took a sip and barely held in a moan.

Mr. Castillo grinned and dropped a dollop of whipped cream into his own mug. “So, can we have a little chat? Nothing serious, I just want to know about your education.”

We sat at the kitchen counter for an hour after we finished the hot cocoa, and just talked about school. Mr. Castillo was interested in my French classes, and laughed when I told him how much I hated _The Great Gatsby_.

“Understandable,” he said, taking our mugs and setting them in the sink. “I remember not being very interested in it in high school.”

“I never want to read it again, but I guess I’ll have to in sophomore English,” I said, making a face as Duchess pawed at my ankle.

Mr. Castillo paused in washing the mugs. “Wait. Why did you read it if you hated it?”

I hesitated. “My stepbrother kind of made me read it and take notes for him. He’s a sophomore.”

Mr. Castillo was silent for a long minute, then he nodded and went back to washing the dishes. “Okay. I see. Is it okay if we discuss all of that later on, when Aria gets home? Or do you not want to?”

Would they send me back if I didn’t?

“I dunno,” I said, fighting down my nerves. “Why do you want to?”

“Because I want to see if I can bring child abuse charges against your stepmother.”

I stared at him. “She… I don’t--” I cut myself off, and Duchess began to whine. I slid off my stool and sat on the floor, and Duchess crawled onto my lap and burrowed into my shirt.

The faucet shut off and Mr. Castillo rounded the counter, his forehead crinkled in concern. “Victor?”

“She didn’t really abuse me,” I said quietly. “She kept me fed and clothed, and she let me stay in the house.”

“There’s more than that to abuse, and a lot of it is punishable by law.” Mr. Castillo crouched down next to me. “Victor, I’m very worried about your mental health because of what this woman did to you while she was your legal guardian.”

Duchess began to lick my face, and I realize I was crying again. “I hate this,” I muttered, wiping my face. “I hate crying. I hate crying so much.”

Mr. Castillo was silent as the other dogs ran over and crowded onto my lap. “I don’t like seeing you like this,” he eventually said. “And I want to help you get better, and be happy. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but you deserve to be happy, Victor.”

I held Queenie to my chest and thought about it. “I… I’ll try it,” I finally said.

Mr. Castillo nodded, and he didn’t ask me about it again for the rest of the morning.

 

Mr. Castillo let me eat dinner early - it was a homemade stir-fry, really yummy, and I was allowed to eat as much as I wanted… and it was so weird to not have to cook for anyone, either - and then retreat back to my room. Queenie and Duchess followed me and curled up on my bed with me, and Mr. Castillo had given me the copy of _The Hobbit_ that I’d been eyeing earlier. I settled against the pillows to start reading while the rest of the Castillo household got home from work and school and had dinner. I could hear voices from downstairs, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. I didn’t really care about that, and it felt too much like eavesdropping anyway.

I was at the part where Bilbo finally left the Shire when Mrs. Castillo knocked at the door and asked if she could come in. I got up to let her in, and the dogs jumped off the bed to follow me. Mrs. Castillo smiled at me when I opened the door, and noticed the book in my hand. “Oh, I love that one so much,” she said. “That was my father’s copy, and he gave it to me when I first moved out. It’s the second printing.”

“Wow,” I said, flipping it back open to look at the information page. “That’s… should I even be reading it?”

“Of course!” Mrs. Castillo reassured me. “Why else would we have books if we weren’t going to read them?”

I shrugged, feeling awkward.

Mrs. Castillo’s smile dimmed a little. “Can we talk? Paolo was telling me that you might want to.”

I felt my heart racing in my chest, but… it felt real. All of it. This life, that the Castillos were offering me. And I _wanted_ it. “Okay,” I finally said, and we sat down on the bed. After a bit, Mr. Castillo came in and joined us, bringing a chair to sit on.

And I told them everything.

 

The next day, Mrs. Castillo took a day off from work and took me shopping. We spent the morning at the Meijer, and she bought me so many clothes that I actually started crying again at checkout. Everyone else freaked out, and the cashier actually handed me a lollipop after Mrs. Castillo managed to calm me down and reassure me enough to stop crying.

Mr. Castillo was doing yard work when we got back to the house, and Mrs. Castillo helped me put away my new clothes in the dresser and closet. She’d gotten me a ton of bathroom stuff, like my own shampoo and body wash and deodorant, and a toothbrush of my own, and let me take a quick shower while she fixed lunch. I ate sandwiches and chips with both of the Castillos, and then it was time for my appointment.

Mr. Castillo had access to the university’s employee assistance program, and since I was officially their legal ward, I was now entitled to those services as well. Mr. and Mrs. Castillo and I piled into one of the cars, and then we were headed into Ann Arbor to go to a counselor’s office.

The man that I met with was very soft-spoken, and he knew Mrs. Castillo already. I felt like I could trust him right away, and when he asked me if I wanted the Castillos to leave while we talked I was a bit shocked, but told him that they could stay. We talked for two hours, him asking me questions that kind of threw me a curveball once in a while, and at one point Mrs. Castillo had to excuse herself. She came back into the office about ten minutes later and looked like she’d been crying, but she brushed off questions and turned her attention back to me.

The counselor, who told me to call him Roger, made another appointment for me and then looked me right in the eyes and said, very seriously, “you deserve this, Victor. You deserve this happiness. Keep telling yourself that, and I hope you begin to believe it soon.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, and then the Castillos took me home again.

I napped for the rest of the day because I was exhausted for some reason, and I woke up with Duke sleeping on my chest. He licked my chin when he realized I was awake, and I actually laughed.

I shuffled downstairs to see if anyone was still up, and almost bolted back upstairs when I saw a familiar redhead sitting on the couch in the family room.

“Oh, hey,” Mila said, as if some random weird kid hadn’t just wandered into her kitchen. “Nice to finally see you all awake,” she added, smiling. “Mom left the leftovers on the stove for you, she said to help yourself.”

I nodded and shuffled into the kitchen.

“Hey, do you watch _Veronica Mars_? I’ve got the new episode TiVo’d and I was going to watch it.”

I blinked and squinted at the TV. “I’ve never seen it.”

“Oh. _Oh my god_ ,” Mila said. “Quick, get your dinner and I’ll grab a tray table, I’m gonna introduce you to the greatest show on TV.”

I stared at her. “Uh…”

“Don’t worry, we eat in the family room during the Superbowl,” Mila reassured me.

“Okay,” I said, even though that hadn’t been what I was worried about. In the kitchen, I reheated a bowl of tomato soup and grabbed one of the grilled cheese sandwich slices on a plate. When I went back into the family room, Mila had set up one of the folding tray tables and patted it.

“Seriously, this show is so good,” she said as I set my dinner down on the tray. “There are only four episodes out but it’s taken over my life. I love it.”

“Okay,” I said as she fiddled with the TV remote.

“I’m putting on the first episode, because that helps it make sense,” she added. “Also, because it’s really good. You’ll love it. I hope. I’m sorry, I’m assuming you’ll like what I like.”

“It’s okay,” I said, feeling like a broken record.

“If you get bored or aren’t into it, it’s fine.” Mila smiled at me, and hit play on the remote.

 

I ended up really liking _Veronica Mars_ , and Mila played the next episode once the first one had finished. By the time Mrs. Castillo came back downstairs to make sure the kitchen was cleaned up and tell Mila to go to bed, I was fully caught up on the show and we’d watched the most recent episode. Mila was really nice, too, and she was really funny.

“Mila, darling,” Mrs. Castillo said, sighing but smiling anyway. “You have training with Yakov tomorrow.”

“Yeah, in the afternoon,” Mila whined, flopping over the back of the couch. “I’m allowed to sleep in on weekends, that’s the deal.”

“Yes, but it’s almost nine-thirty,” Mrs. Castillo pointed out.

“My bedtime’s ten, Mom.”

“Yeah, and you smell like ice rink. Take a shower before you go to bed, your sheets are still pretty new.”

Mila blew a raspberry at Mrs. Castillo, but pecked her mom on the cheek before skipping upstairs.

“Did you have fun?” Mrs. Castillo asked me, and I was surprised to realize that I had.

“I… I like her,” I said. “She’s cool.”

Mrs. Castillo beamed. “She is, isn’t she? And she likes you a lot, too. She was very excited to meet you.”

I blushed, but got up to help her clean up the kitchen before she shooed me upstairs to bed, too.

 

I woke up before everyone else, and suddenly I couldn’t fall back asleep. Queenie was on the bed with me this time, and she let me pick her up and carry her downstairs. I put her down in the kitchen, and she followed me around as I poked my head in the pantry and the fridge.

It had been a long time since I’d last made my dad’s favorite cinnamon French toast - well, it had been when he was still alive - but Dina and her sons hated cinnamon, so they never really wanted it. I wondered how much of it I still remembered - it was pretty basic, to be honest: you beat the eggs, added milk and vanilla, dipped the sliced bread in it, sprinkled cinnamon on them, and then put them on the frying pan. I found the cinnamon and the vanilla extract easily enough, and someone had gotten _real_ Canadian maple syrup at one point, and I really wanted to try it.

I found the sliced bread and the eggs, and I set to work. It turned out, cinnamon French toast was really easy to make from memory.

I had the fluffy French toast under a pot lid to keep them warm and was washing the remnants of a container of strawberries when Mr. and Mrs. Castillo came into the kitchen with two of the dogs.

“Victor, did you make all of this?” Mrs. Castillo asked softly.

“It’s just some French toast,” I said, nervous. “I’m sorry, were you saving the fruit for something--”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Mrs. Castillo said quickly. “This looks delicious, but you didn’t have to make all of this for us! You could have slept in if you wanted to!”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I said, cutting the stems off the strawberries in my hands. “And I wanted to see if I still remembered how to make this.”

“They smell delicious,” Mr. Castillo said, popping the lid off the platter and taking a sniff. “I’ve got to go wake Mila, she won’t want to miss this.” He winked at me and strode back into the hallway.

“You’ll have to teach me how to make them like this,” Mrs. Castillo said, smiling. “I can never get them this fluffy.”

“It’s the milk,” I said. “That’s how you get scrambled eggs to be fluffy too.”

“That make so much sense. My mom never uses milk in her eggs, and she’s the one who taught me. Here, honey, I’ll take care of those.”

I let her take over cleaning and cutting up the strawberries, and started poking the coffeemaker.

“Do you want some?” she asked me, and I shook my head.

“I know how to work this kind of coffeemaker,” I said, and she nodded in understanding. “Do you have creamer…?”

“Yes, on the top shelf in the fridge.”

By the time Mila stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing at her eyes, the coffee was brewing and Mrs. Castillo had poured several glasses of orange juice. All four of the dogs were gathered around the counter, watching for falling food like hawks watching for rabbits, and Mr. Castillo looked like a kid on Christmas morning as he took out the plates from the cabinet.

Once the table was all set and all the food was out, Mrs. Castillo handed me a plate and chivvied me into making my meal first. “Chef gets first dibs,” she said.

“Oh my god, I haven’t had French toast since the last time we went out for breakfast,” Mila moaned. “I _knew_ today would be a good day.”

I had managed to pull off the French toast almost perfectly, even if the cinnamon was a bit stronger than it needed to be. The syrup balanced that out, though, and I was surprised to realize, once I’d finished my breakfast, that I was actually really happy.

Wow. It felt really… nice.

“So, do we have any plans for the day?” Mr. Castillo asked, on his third serving. “Mila, I know you’ve got ice time with Yakov in the afternoon--”

“Hey, Victor, do you want to come along?” Mila suddenly piped up, her eyes bright. “Dad said you were into skating.”

“You don’t… you don’t remember?” I asked, confused. “I used to work at the Ice Castle in Perrault, I saw you there a few times…”

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Mila said, dropping her fork in shock. “I _knew_ you looked familiar. Holy shit.”

“Mila, language,” Mrs. Castillo said, rubbing her forehead.

“Sorry. Holy _crap_. Do you skate?”

I fidgeted in my chair. “A little,” I admitted.

“Cool! Can I bring him along with?” Mila looked at her parents, her face stretched in an excited grin. “Please? I’ll pay for rentals!”

“Do you even want to skate?” Mr. Castillo asked me, because his daughter hadn’t even asked me.

I thought about it. “Maybe,” I finally said, slowly. “I’ll… I dunno, I can think about it? And she’ll be on the ice alone for a while, right?”

“Yeah, that’s usually how it goes,” Mrs. Castillo agreed.

“I wouldn’t mind going along with,” I said. “I can read while she has her practice.”

“Cool! We can make a day trip of it!” Mila was bouncing in her seat. “This is gonna be _great_!”

Later on, as I helped clean up the mess I’d made while making breakfast, I realized that I was still happy. I was excited, even.

It _was_ going to be great, I decided, and then I was smiling for the rest of the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Paolo Castillo was modeled off of Paolo Montalban, the actor who portrayed Prince Christopher in the 1997 _Rogers and Hammerstein's Cinderella_.](https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0598830/mediaviewer/rm2981866240)
> 
> [Aria Castillo was modeled off of Brandy Norwood, who portrayed Cinderella in the same TV movie.](https://twitter.com/paolomontalban/status/966960878103904256)


	6. If The Skate Fits

Mila’s home rink was much bigger than Ice Castle, and it had everything from a pro shop and a fitness center to a cafe and an arcade. It smelled nice, oddly enough, and the staff was friendly. Kind of like how I remembered Ice Castle being before Dina started running it.

Mila pocketed her dad’s car keys and cracked her neck. “My coach isn’t here yet,” she said. “He actually doesn’t show up for half an hour; we got here super early. I’m gonna get my skates on and stow my stuff in the locker room. Do you want to rent some skates? They’ll give me a deal, and Yakov won’t kick you off the ice when he shows up.”

“I…” I thought about it. “Sure. Why not?”

“Cool!” Mila grabbed my hand and dragged me across the lobby. “Let’s get you suited up!”

I was wearing athletic pants and a regular t-shirt, but once I had the rental skates on - in a proper men’s black, for once in a long time - and was stepping out onto the ice with the other people taking advantage of the open ice, I felt more at home than I’d felt the entire week. I ducked around a bunch of kids and headed towards center ice to avoid some of the stragglers.

“You _do_ know how to skate!” Mila said excitedly, joining me. “Do you know any jumps?”

“In rentals? Are you crazy?”

Mila blew a raspberry and twirled around me. “You too chicken?”

I didn’t take the bait. “I don’t have a death wish.”

“Hmmmm,” she said, skating backward and transitioning into a takeoff. I scooted out of her way as she pulled off a neat double toe and landed safely.

“Should you be jumping before your coach is here?” I asked, making a face.

“Probably not,” Mila admitted. She did a quick triple twizzle and stopped, striking a pose. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“At least you didn’t fall,” I said.

Mila snickered. “True.” She circled around me again. “What kind of jumps do you know?”

“I mean,” I shrugged. “I know singles and a few doubles.”

“Can you pull off triples?”

“Sometimes. Not in these, though,” I said, pointing at my skates. “There’s no ankle support, seriously.”

“No, no, I feel you,” Mila said quickly. “Don’t jump. Did you have your own pair, before?”

“Sort of.” I sighed. “I mean, I had a pair and they weren’t quite _new_ , but they were decent.”

“Mm?”

“And, well, I mean.” I blushed. “They were my mother’s skates.”

Mila skidded to a stop. “Girl skates?”

“I guess?”

“Did you… wait. _Wait._ ” Mila stared at me. “Wait. I saw a dude with girl skates, at the Open--”

I sighed. “Yeah.”

“Was that…?”

I felt naked and very, very small, standing there at center ice. “That was me,” I finally admitted. “I was in disguise because… stepmother.”

Mila’s forehead crinkled. “What?”

“My stepmother. She wouldn’t have let me skate in the Open, so I went behind her back. Raised the entry fee money myself and everything,” I started to meander along, and Mila quickly followed. “But I guess she recognized me, even with that wig on--”

“That was a _wig_ , ohhh,” Mila said, eyes wide. “Yeah, of course, that makes sense.”

I laughed. “I did use to have hair that long, too. Dina made me cut it off after my dad died.”

“What a bitch,” Mila made a face. “And she kept you from skating?”

“Threw out my old pair and cancelled my lessons. She even drove my coach out of town so he couldn’t make a fuss.” I felt my own face curling into a disgusted expression. “She said she needed to focus on her sons’ Olympic careers instead. Those two are the Montgomery boys from the Open.”

“Wait, you mean Fetish Club Kid and the Boy Blunder?” Mila stared at me. “Those are your step-brothers?”

“Yep.”

“I… _dang_.” Mila scratched the back of her head. “I mean, if more money equaled more actual talent, that would make sense? But… I dunno, the older one with the dark hair creeped me the hell out and was _way_ too weird for his tango, you know?”

“I thought he was like some kind of sleazy jungle cat,” I said. “Predatory and tasteless.”

“Yeah, that’s a good way to put it,” Mila agreed. “And the redhead kid? I had major secondhand embarrassment every time he fell down.”

“Imagine how much fun it is to watch him at training,” I said, snorting. “And he’d argue with Coach Cialdini constantly about upping his jumps to triples and even _quads_.”

“Can either of them do quads yet?”

“No, thank _God_.” I skated backwards for a bit. “So, yeah, Dina needed all the help she could get if she wanted either of those idiots to go to the Olympics one day. Maybe in a thousand years, if we’re still doing Olympic Games.”

“Holy crap,” Mila shook her head. “But you can actually skate, though. And did you put your program together by yourself? Because it was really, really good.”

“Yeah, I choreographed my own program,” I said. “I’d sneak onto the ice after closing to work on it, almost every night. Took me a month to get it down.”

“You did a fully-realized short program in a _month_? Victor, you could have competed with that program!” Mila fell silent. “You should totally talk to my coach about taking lessons with him,” she finally said.

I drifted to a stop. “I… I dunno about that.”

“Why not? You have the talent and the skills, and I know Mom and Dad would support you.”

I shook my head. “I… I didn’t want to compete, before. I just wanted to skate in the Open for someone to see. And I don’t even know if that someone saw me.”

Mila frowned. “You did all that just to skate for someone you don’t even know was there? Wait.” She thought about it for a second. “Have you ever met this someone before?”

“Nope. See? Pathetic.”

Mila rubbed her chin. “Not pathetic, but still. You did all that just to skate for a recital, and only a recital?”

“And Dina still figured out it was me, in the end,” I said. “And then she kicked me out and called DCFS on me. So.”

“What a _bitch_ ,” Mila said again, with feeling. “But her kids are competing, right?” She looked at me, and I could tell she was completely serious. “What if you showed up and beat them? I mean, theoretically.”

I didn’t answer, because… now I was thinking about it again. And… I kind of wanted to see that. After everything my stepfamily had put me through, I kind of really wanted it.

“I don’t know,” I said instead.

Mila frowned at me again, but shrugged it off. “Hey, show me that routine again. You can mark your jumps if you want.”

“You really want to see it?”

“Yeah, dude, it was _really good_.” Mila used her toe pick to come to a stop. “You’ll have the ice pretty much to yourself, too.”

I looked up and saw that people were starting to leave the ice and empty out the rink. “What about your session?”

“It’s not time yet, and I don’t see Yakov. Besides, you’re fine. You’re with me.” She winked.

I sighed. “Fine,” I said, and skated to center ice so I could assume the starting pose.

Mila headed over to the boards as I got the song going in my head and started my program off. The rentals I was wearing were a little bit wobblier than my mother’s skates, and I could definitely feel the change in quality in the boots and with the blades. Even so, I kept my balance as best as I could and fell into the music that only I could hear.

Near the end of the step sequence, I heard someone say “Vitya Nikiforov” and suddenly snapped out of it. I fell on my butt in surprise.

“Crap, you okay?” Mila asked, skating over to me, and I shook off her offer to help me up.

“I’m fine,” I said, brushing off the seat of my pants. “Just startled.” I looked up and saw an older man in a hat standing at the boards. “Who’s that?”

“My coach, Yakov Feltsman.”

I blinked. “Isn’t that Yuri Plisetsky’s old coach?”

“Oh, yeah,” Mila giggled. “He is.”

“Is he anything like Plisetsky?”

“I dunno,” she shrugged. “I’ve never seen Plisetsky coach.”

“Ah.” I fiddled with the hem of my t-shirt. “Well, I guess it’s time for you to get started?”

“Actually, the staff wants to zamboni the ice before we do,” Mila said. “Are you going to want to skate more afterwards?”

“I think I’m good,” I said, feeling awkward as I realized Mila’s coach was _still_ staring at me. “Thanks, though. This was fun.”

“I still want to see you jumping again,” Mila insisted.

I smiled and shook my head as I made for the ice entrance.

“You’re him, aren’t you?” Coach Feltsman said as I got to the opening and stepped off the ice. “The skater everyone was talking about at the Autumn Open.”

I felt my shoulders draw up, almost defensively. “People are talking about me?”

“The boy skater with the women’s skates? Nikiforov? Yes.”

“That’s not my real name,” I admitted. “I made that up.”

Coach Feltsman had a deep, heavily accented voice and an unreadable expression. He was wearing a windbreaker indoors, and his eyes were locked on me as I made for the bench to start taking my rentals off. “Why did you pick that name to skate under?”

I winced. “It’s kind of stupid.”

“Is it?”

I paused in unlacing my boot. “It… it’s a pseudonym I gave myself?”

“Yes, I gathered,” Coach Feltsman said. “I’m not asking why you used a false name.”

“Right. It was my screen name online, and I picked it so someone could recognize me.”

“But why Nikiforov? And you do know that ‘Vitya’ is a nickname for--”

“For Victor, yes,” I said, remembering what Georgi had said. “That’s my real name. My first name. My dad called me Vitya when he was still alive.”

“But Nikiforov?”

I was silent for a long moment. “My mother’s maiden name was Nikiforova,” I finally said.

Mila gasped. “No _way_.”

Coach Feltsman looked stricken when I finally glanced back up at him. “What was your mother’s name?”

I hesitated before finally answering, “Nina Nikiforova. She… she died when I was too little to remember her.”

“Your mom was Nina Nikiforova?” Mila demanded, eyes wide. “She’s my skating idol. Victor, your mom was an _Olympian_.”

“What?”

“You didn’t know?” Mila looked shocked as she sat down on the nearest bench and groped for her skate guards. “How did you not know?”

“I mean, I knew she competed,” I said. “But I didn’t know she was an Olympian. Holy shit.”

“Language,” Coach Feltsman said, like it was an automatic response.

“Can I be allowed a few cusses?” I made a face. “I just found out my mom was an Olympic skater.”

“Not just an Olympic skater,” Coach Feltsman sat down next to me. “She was an Olympic gold medalist in the eighties, and the Russian national champion for several years.”

I covered my mouth with my hands, at a loss for words. “Her… her medals, everything,” I said, thinking back to the case in my dad’s office. He’d covered it with a dropcloth, and I would peek under it as a kid. “Everything she… all her trophies. We lost all of them in the fire.”

Mila gasped again.

Coach Feltsman was still looking at me intently. “You really didn’t know?”

I shook my head.

“I… I lost contact with Nina after she suddenly retired to marry an American hockey player. Your father,” he added, “I assume. And then she disappeared from the skating world. I guess she was busy having you.”

I felt tears starting to well up in my eyes. “I was born in 1990.”

“Right,” Coach Feltsman nodded. “That makes sense.”

We sat in silence as one of the rink workers got the zamboni onto the ice and started resurfacing it.

“I have been searching for Nina for years, now,” Coach Feltsman finally said. “Or her children. I knew if she had children, they would be skating as well. It’s in their blood… _your_ blood.”

I covered my face with my hands.

“When I didn’t hear anything of her from figure skating, I looked in hockey, too,” Coach Feltsman admitted. “I knew she was somewhere in Michigan, around this area.”

“My dad owned the Ice Castle in Perrault,” I said, sniffling. “My stepmother inherited it after he died in the fire. She made me quit skating four years ago.”

“Bitch,” Mila muttered, and Coach Feltsman grumbled at her. “What? It’s true. Mom says she’s going to go after her too.”

Coach Feltsman made a surprised noise. “What?”

“Legally,” Mila clarified. “My mom wants to get her investigated so she can take this lady to court.”

They were both quiet for a moment, and I didn’t bother speaking up. The lump in my throat had grown.

“Your mother,” Coach Feltsman finally said, “was my best student. She drove me insane, and she was flighty and emotional, but she was one of the best skaters I have ever coached in my career.”

“You already know she was my idol,” Mila added.

“She was Yura’s idol as well,” Coach Feltsman went on. “She was like his older sister, back when he was still a novice. He was devastated when she left competition to marry.”

I snorted even as I tried to keep myself from crying. “Is that why he has such an attitude?”

“He was like that even as a young boy,” Coach Feltsman said dismissively. “I let him get away with it because he had the talent to back it up.”

“Great,” I said, laughing.

Coach Feltsman patted my shoulder. “I would like to talk to you after my time with Mila today. We will be here for two hours.”

“Do you want some money for the cafe?” Mila asked me.

I shook my head.

“I have cash if you get hungry,” Mila said, and then she got back out onto the now-empty and newly resurfaced ice.

Coach Feltsman was still looking at me as I finally got my rentals off and set them aside. “I am very glad to have found you, at last,” he said.

I gave him a weak smile and left him to lace up so he could join his skater on the ice and so I could return the rentals to the desk.

 

Coach Feltsman worked Mila really hard for the two hours that they had private ice, and I mostly read more of _The Hobbit_ until my stomach started growling. I caught Mila’s attention, and she gave me ten bucks to go and get something to eat from the cafe. I’d have to pay her back for the food, but how?

“Don’t even think about it,” Mila called as I munched on a bagel. “If you try to pay me back after that breakfast you surprised us with, I will noogie you.”

I stuck my tongue out at her, and Coach Feltsman snapped her back to focus by clearing his throat.

Once her ice time was over and Mila was ducking into the locker room to change out of her workout clothes, Coach Feltsman rejoined me on the bench. “Have you given any thought to competing?” he asked.

I nudged my bookmark into place and shut the book. “I… a little,” I admitted. “But I really don’t know if I want to. Any desire I had to compete kind of got… crushed.”

Coach Feltsman sighed and started to unlace his skates. “I saw you skate at the Open,” he said. “You have raw talent, and clearly you’ve got the basic discipline that you need in order to build on it. And Mila tells me you put your program together by yourself?”

I nodded.

“Victor, you could seriously go far in competitive figure skating,” Coach Feltsman said. “I mean it. Please, consider it. I would take you on in a heartbeat.”

“Thank you,” I said, and he let me be after that.

 

“So was it a girl?” Mila asked as she drove us back to the Castillo house.

“What?”

“The person you wanted to meet up with at the Open. Were you romancing someone?” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

I blushed. “No,” I said, and then when she made a face at me, “ _No_ , I mean it.”

“Just a friend, then?”

“I… sort of,” I said, looking down at my hands. I would have tried to crack open _The Hobbit_ again, but reading while in a moving car gave me motion sickness. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Hm.” Mila dropped it and instead started talking about movies she wanted to see in theaters during the upcoming holiday season, and I was able to listen with half an ear and give her occasional responses until she pulled her dad’s car back into the garage again.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Mila said as she let us back into the house and the dogs came running to greet us. “Hey, Mom! Victor’s _really_ good at skating, turns out!”

“Yeah?” Mrs. Castillo looked up from her laptop, which she’d set up at the kitchen table. “Wow, Victor! Cooking and skating, is there anything you can’t do?” She smiled at me.

I laughed sheepishly. “I’m bad at feelings.”

“Most teenagers are,” Mrs. Castillo winked. “Are you hungry for a late lunch?”

“I’m okay,” I said. “I had a bagel at the cafe.”

“I’m starving,” Mila moaned. “Let me rinse off first.” She disappeared into the hallway and I heard her footsteps on the stairs.

“I… would it be okay if I used the house phone?” I asked, and Mrs. Castillo blinked at me. “I might need a phonebook, too. It’s… been a week since I last talked to my friends back in Perrault.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Castillo said right away. “The phone book is in the drawer under the phone.” She pointed out the spot on the counter. “Do you want some privacy? I can go in the den.”

“I… yeah, actually,” I said, and Mrs. Castillo smiled reassuringly at me while she unplugged her laptop and picked it up to move. “I’ll be quick,” I added, and she flapped a hand at me.

“Don’t worry, dear. It’s fine. Take as long as you need, everyone here has cell phones.” She paused. “I should get you a cell phone, just in case. We’ll talk about it later.” She smiled again and then ducked into the hallway.

I found Georgi’s home number easily - there weren’t many other Popovich families in the area - and dialed it in on the cordless handset. I waited while the call connected, and then I heard the buzzing as it rang.

Mrs. Popovich picked up. “Hello?”

I wilted a little in relief at the sound of a familiar voice. “Hi, Mrs. Popovich. It’s Victor--”

She gasped and said something in Russian that I didn’t catch. “You-- _Victor_ , Georgi has been worried sick about you! Oh my God, you’re all right?”

“Yes, I’m okay,” I said, surprised. “Georgi was worried?”

“Of course he was!” Mrs. Popovich said. “You disappeared! What were we supposed to think?”

“I… I dunno,” I said awkwardly. “I’m sorry for making you worry. Things happened so fast.”

“Where are you?”

“I… I’m in Ann Arbor,” I said, and Mrs. Popovich went quiet.

“So you are still close,” she said in relief. “Thank goodness. Okay, here is Georgi now.”

There was the sound of the phone changing hands, and then Georgi’s voice said, “hello?”

“Hi, Georgi.”

“ _Victor?!_ Holy crap, where have you been? Chris and I have been trying to find out what happened to you for a week!”

I winced. “I’m sorry. Dina--”

“That _bitch_ \--”

I heard Georgi’s mom snap at him from far-off and smothered a laugh as he sniped back at her in rapidfire Russian. “Yeah,” I said. “She. Uh.” I dropped my voice, and Georgi went quiet. “She found me out at the Open and locked me in the basement. Then she called child services on Monday and they took me away. I’m in a foster home right now.”

“Oh my god,” Georgi said in horror.

“Joke’s on her, though,” I said quickly. “My foster parents are super nice and my foster sister is _Mila Babicheva_ , AKA the ladies single rising star from Ann Arbor. I’m fine, Georgi. I promise.”

“You’re in Ann Arbor?”

“Yeah.” I nodded, even though Georgi couldn’t see me. “Wild, huh?”

“Holy crap,” Georgi muttered. “Did you call Chris yet?”

“He’s unlisted,” I said, flipping to the page where _Giacometti_ should have been.

“Okay, you need our cell numbers again?”

“Sure,” I said, grabbing the notepad left by the phone. “I guess my foster parents want to get me a cell phone too.”

“I like them better already,” Georgi said before listing off his and Chris’s cell phone numbers for me.

We talked for a little bit longer, just catching up on stuff that I’d missed, and then we said our goodbyes so Georgi could finish his homework and I could call Chris.

This time, I called his cell. While it was ringing, I thought back to what Coach Feltsman had said about my mother.

“I completely forgot to tell Georgi,” I said out loud, and then Chris finally picked up.

“ _Holy shit_ ,” he said as soon as I’d greeted him. “You’re alive!”

“What, did you think Dina murdered me and buried me in the backyard?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Chris said, deadpan, and I actually laughed. “No, seriously, we cornered Winston and tried to get him to talk, and he was totally weird about it and said you’d been sent off to where you belonged.”

“Yeah, Dina called DCFS on me and had me taken away into foster care.”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m fine,” I repeated. “My foster parents are actually really nice, and I have a foster sister too. Everyone’s been really great. I… I actually really like it here.”

Chris fell silent. “Well, that’s good,” he finally said.

“I miss you guys, though,” I added.

Chris breathed a sigh of relief. “So you’re not… like, cutting us out?”

“Of course not!” I said in surprise. “You guys are my best friends, why would I do that?”

“I dunno, random fear or something,” Chris said quietly.

“Well, that’s not happening. I… actually, I want to meet up with you guys. I have _so much_ to tell you both.”

“I’ll be in Ann Arbor again for another photoshoot,” Chris said. “This Wednesday. I could bring Georgi along, and we could meet up.”

“Yes! Give me the address. I’ll see if someone can drive me.”

“Awesome.” Chris was quiet for a second, and then he added, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” I said, and it felt like everything was falling back into place.

 

Wednesday finally rolled around, and I spent the days in between either reading or with the Castillos and Mila. That day, Mr. Castillo took me to work with him, and I got to meet everyone in his office at the U of M. I ended up spending the afternoon goofing around on a spare computer, surfing the internet while Mr. Castillo took care of some administrative stuff for the school. I didn’t dare log into the HistoryMakers.net forum on someone else’s computer, but I caught up on some of the threads and saw to my shock that I’d made a bit of a splash online thanks to my performance at the Open. There were even some grainy pictures someone had taken with a digital camera.

I had a _thread_. Holy crap.

After a while, it got weird to read people’s speculations on me, and thankfully Mr. Castillo took a breather for lunch. I closed out of the window and went with him to get food.

After he’d finished up at the office, we wandered into the massive gardens at the Nichols Arboretum. “I’m glad you’re meeting up with your friends,” he eventually said as people passed us by, going deeper into the park. “If you’d like, you can have them over to our house.”

“Thank you,” I said, and then we walked in silence for a bit. “It’s really pretty here,” I commented, to fill the silence.

Mr. Castillo smiled. “I love coming out here,” he said. “Especially when the leaves are turning.”

I had to admit, he was right. The fall colors were in full swing, and the trees that still had leaves on them had turned brilliant shades of yellow, red, and orange. One tree even reminded me of the color of Yuuri’s costume at the Open.

“Mila told me about what Yakov said.”

I came to a stop, and Mr. Castillo had to double back. “About my mother?”

“Your mother?”

“What did Mila tell you?”

Mr. Castillo’s eyebrows went up. “That Yakov wants to coach you.”

I sighed. “He was my mother’s coach - my _real_ mother,” I added. “Back when she lived in Russia. It’s insane.”

“Maybe it’s fate,” Mr. Castillo offered, and I laughed.

“Fate is weird,” I said.

“Very true,” he agreed. “C’mon, it’s almost time to meet your friends. Let’s get back to the car, huh?”

 

Georgi actually hugged me as soon as I walked into the photography studio lobby. “Chris is still in there,” he said, and there were actual tears in his eyes. “He should be finishing up soon.”

“Aw, Georgi,” I said, hugging him back. “I missed you too.”

Georgi sniffed manfully, and blew his nose.

Mrs. Giacometti hugged me too. “It’s good to see you again, Victor. Chris was so worried about you,” she said. “He was devastated when you didn’t show up at school on Monday.”

“Oh no,” I said. “Sorry for all the weirdness.”

She shook her head. “He told me what you told him, and I should be the one apologizing. I had no idea your stepmother was treating you like that.”

“I kind of didn’t want anyone to know,” I admitted. “Mostly because Dina kept threatening me. It really isn’t your fault.”

“I’m still so sorry you had to go through this,” she said, patting my back. “We can’t stay too long, since it’s a school night, but I’m so happy to see you doing well.”

I really was, wasn’t I?

Georgi and I collapsed on the couch again and I told him all about my foster family while we waited. Once Chris came out of the studio, I got yet another relieved hug.

“I thought she got rid of you forever,” he said, squeezing me tightly.

“I did too,” I answered.

Mr. Castillo showed up after me, having run and got coffee for himself and Mrs. Giacometti, and introduced himself to my friends. He retreated to the chairs with Chris’s mom to do adult chatting, and Chris turned to me with wide eyes.

“He’s really nice!”

“I know!” I lowered my voice. “I thought it was all just a trick but Mrs. Castillo is literally talking to someone in the courts about going after Dina. I hear her on the phone.”

“Holy crap,” Georgi breathed, grinning. “I hope she does it.”

“I think she will, she flipped out yesterday because I’m super underweight. Mila says she’s never seen her mom so pissed.”

“Wow,” they both whispered.

“What about your sister?” Chris asked.

“She was one of the skaters in the Open,” I said. “She took me to her skate training on Saturday and I met her coach. And guess what? They both recognized me as Nikiforov, and it turns out that _Mila’s coach was my mom’s old coach._ Oh, and my mom was an _Olympian_.”

“ _No fucking way_.” Chris almost shouted, and then winced when his mom barked his name at him.

“He wants to coach me,” I added, and then blinked when the smuggest smiles flitted over my friends’ faces. “What?”

“We told you that you might impress a coach,” Georgi said, waggling his eyebrows.

“What a coincidence,” Chris added.

“Shut up, I haven’t told him yes.” I curled in on myself. “The last time was such a disaster…”

“Because of Pork Boy?” Chris asked, and I nodded. “What was his deal? I thought he was going to meet you at the Open.”

“Dunno, I haven’t… talked to him. Plus, Dina probably already got rid of my old phone. I dunno.” I sighed. “I’m kind of scared to find out. What if he hasn’t even messaged me?”

“You have to find out,” Georgi insisted. “Log on as soon as you get home and ask him. He’s your _true love_.”

“Okay, where did that come from.”

“Victor,” Chris said, rolling his eyes. “You were super depressed up until you first started talking to him. You _are_ in love with him. Even Georgi can tell.”

“ _Hey!_ I know more about love than either of you!”

“I bet this was all a big misunderstanding,” Chris went on, ignoring Georgi. “But how will you know if you never reach out to him?”

I sighed again. “I don’t know. Maybe I need to quit worrying about it, focus on figuring out what I’ll do for school and stuff.”

“Or you could skate your way into romance,” Georgi wheedled, and I poked him on the shoulder.

“That kind of stuff only happens in the movies. I don’t want to tempt fate, things have turned out pretty good for me so far.”

“Well, at least log onto the message board and see if he’s sent you some kind of an olive branch,” Chris said, leaving no room for arguments. “And if he has, tell us.”

“I don’t have a phone yet,” I said.

Chris nodded. “Whenever you get one, text us?”

I shrugged, and then Mrs. Giacometti called that it was time to start wrapping up and heading home. I actually _heard_ Chris’s stomach growl when I hugged him goodbye, and Georgi looked a bit exhausted too. Once we’d all promised to stay in contact, we parted ways.

“You have nice friends,” Mr. Castillo said as we pulled onto Zeeb again, heading towards the house.

“They’re great. They supported me in one of the biggest things I’ve ever done,” I said.

“Mila said you entered the Autumn Open all by yourself?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I wouldn’t have done it if it weren’t for them.” _And bravep0rk_.

Mr. Castillo smiled. “I’d like to see you skate. I’ve gotten something of an appreciation for it thanks to Mila.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But not on the rentals that the Ice Cube has, there’s no ankle support.”

“Do you want skates of your own? We’d be happy to get them for you.”

I blinked. “You don’t have to.”

“But we _want_ to,” Mr. Castillo said. “And we can afford it, Victor. There’s no reason to not go for it.”

“It feels weird,” I said awkwardly.

“Okay, promise me you’ll at least think about it?”

I promised, and he let the topic drop as we pulled into the neighborhood.

 

Over the past few days, I had gotten used to joining the Castillos for dinner. Mila had missed a couple of them thanks to her training schedule, but that night she was there as well. Mrs. Castillo had cooked a meatloaf, which was surprisingly tasty, and there were lots of vegetables as well. Mila was kind of worn out, but when her mom finally asked how meeting my friends had gone, she perked up enough to listen.

“It went really well,” I said, pushing peas around on my plate with my fork. “I really did miss them. They want me to text them with my phone number once I have a cell phone again, and we’re thinking of meeting up sometime soon.”

“In that case, I’ll call Sprint and get you a phone,” Mr. Castillo said. “Do you have a preference on the model?”

“Nope,” I shrugged. “As long as it works.”

“Make sure it can text and take photos,” Mila said.

“Those are expensive,” Mr. Castillo muttered, and his wife laughed at him.

“Still, that’s great! I’m so glad you were able to reconnect with them,” she said.

“Me too,” I said, beaming. Then, very slowly, I set down my fork. “Um. Is it okay if I… tell you all something?”

They all looked at me, Mila’s face alight with curiosity and her parents with neutral expressions. I swallowed and took a deep breath in.

If I made up with bravep0rk, I was determined to at least meet him in person at least once. I deserved it, I’d decided. I had given it a lot of thought during the drive home and while I’d washed up for dinner. And if things worked out with bravep0rk… that meant…

That meant that I could have a real, _actual_ boyfriend. And I was tired of secrets.

“I… this is really hard,” I buried my face in my hands, and Mrs. Castillo touched my arm in sympathy. I appreciated the gesture. “Please, please don’t be mad at me.”

“Did… what--”

Mrs. Castillo shushed Mila and rubbed my arm. “Victor, whatever you have to tell us, we can hear you out.”

I took another deep breath and steeled myself. _Be brave,_ I chanted silently, and looked up at them. “I… I like boys. I’m gay. That’s what I wanted to say.”

Mr. Castillo blinked and Mila’s eyes widened, but Mrs. Castillo smiled. “Thank you for telling us that,” she said, squeezing my arm.

Wait. She wasn’t even surprised?

I looked at her warily. “Is… is it a problem?”

“Of course not,” she said, and I could see it in her eyes that she meant it. I felt myself slumping in my seat before I even registered relief as she went on, “that was very brave of you to tell us, Victor.”

“You really don’t care?” I asked, hardly daring to believe it.

“Oh, we care,” Mr. Castillo said, smiling as well. “If anyone tries to give you trouble, I want you to tell us, okay?”

“But is it a problem? Do you have a problem with it? Please be honest.” I tried to calm my pounding heart, and Mila finally spoke up.

“Victor, don’t worry. I’ve dated girls before. It’s really not a big deal.” She grinned at me. “But why are you telling us this? Is there someone you’re close to?”

“Mila, that’s none of our business. Do we interrogate you about _your_ love life?” Mrs. Castillo flicked a pea at Mila, who stuck her tongue out at her mom. “Very mature, darling.”

“Are you okay?” Mr. Castillo asked me, and I met his eyes. He was concerned for me. He _meant_ it. How had I gotten so lucky?

“I’m better than fine,” I said, and sat back up. “I’m… actually pretty great.”

“Wonderful,” Mrs. Castillo said, and she nudged the bread basket in my direction. “Now eat up, sweetheart. You’ve barely touched your plate.”

“Thank you,” I said, and it was for more than the food.

“You’re very welcome,” Mrs. Castillo said warmly, and we moved onto other topics as we finished the meal.

 

I was helping Mila do the dishes after dinner when I decided to be brave again. “Can I get your help with something?” I asked, drying the plate in my hands and not looking at my foster sister.

“I _knew_ it,” she said. “You _do_ have someone you’re interested in. I love romantic intrigue, what do you need?”

“Hear me out,” I said, and launched into an explanation of the past few months, telling her about how I’d met bravep0rk online and how he convinced me to skate in the Open and meet him. She was silent as I talked, and when I looked at her, she was listening very seriously while she kept rinsing the dinnerware. By the time I got to the end of my story, the dishes were done.

“So now, Chris and Georgi both want me to log in and try to reach out to him again,” I finished, wringing the towel in my hands. “I… I want to, but I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, they were right. First step is to log back into the message board and see if he sent you a message,” Mila said. She smiled. “Do you want someone with you just for support?”

“Please,” I said, and we finished cleaning up before she led me downstairs to the basement and the little office space.

She logged onto her user profile on the desktop computer, and I saw icons for The Sims and a few other computer games before she pulled up Internet Explorer. “Okay, which message board was it?”

“ _HistoryMakers.net_ ,” I said, dragging the other office chair over and settling on it as she typed the address into the URL bar.

“Oh, I know this one,” Mila said as the page loaded. “Go ahead and log in, I’ll be over here while you do your thing.”

I froze.

“Don’t back down now,” Mila added, nudging me as she got up. She flopped on the couch across the room and waved. “Do it. Log in or else I’ll sit on you.”

Well, that definitely was a weird threat. I took another deep breath and scooted my chair closer to the computer, tugging the keyboard closer to me.

For the first time in way over a week, I logged in and clicked on my inbox, shaking harder than I had been before I’d taken the ice and skated _El Sol y El Mar_.

My inbox was bursting with direct messages, all from bravep0rk, to my utter shock. I was so surprised that my nerves died down for a minute, but the butterflies in my stomach came back when I forced myself to click on the most recent one.

 

_I’m so sorry for hurting you_

_I hope you’re okay_

_I miss you_

 

What?

I opened the next one.

 

_Where did you go? No one’s seen you in a while? Did I do this? I’m so sorry Vitya please forgive me, please come back_

Oh my god.

“Oh my god,” I said, and Mila sat up. “I… he--”

Mila got up from the couch. “Can I see?”

“I… sure. Okay.” I sat back as Mila leaned down to read over my shoulder. Her forehead crinkled.

“Open the next one.”

I did, and it was another message apologizing, missing me, begging forgiveness. So was the next. And the next.

The further back we went, the longer the messages got, and Mila actually stepped back to ‘give me privacy’ again.

 

_Vitya are you angry with me? I deserve it, I totally do, I’m so sorry. I really screwed up and I know that. Please believe me. Can we meet? Can we talk again? I keep texting you and there’s no response, did something happen with your phone? I miss talking to you. If you don’t want to talk to me anymore I understand. Please just answer me this once so I know for sure. I’ll leave you alone if you want. I just want to try and make things right._

Tears began rolling down my cheeks, and I angrily wiped them away. I was so sick of crying, but here it was happening again.

“Oh, wow,” Mila said softly. “He really means it.”

We got to the first message, sent the day of the Open.

 

_Vitya, I’m so sorry for not meeting up with you. You were amazing at the Open, that song is from one of my favorite Nina N programs. I really did mean to meet up with you and tell you that. Everything was a little crazy, and I was so nervous, and when I looked up you were gone. People are all talking about you, too. I heard someone saying that they want to see you compete. My coach is trying to find out who you are, he knew Nina N back when she was still alive and he wants to know why you skated one of her songs under her name. I haven’t told him that I know you. Can we try and meet up again? This time I swear I’ll be there. Name a time and place. I NEED to see you again. Can you text me? I’ve sent a couple messages but I haven’t heard from you. I really hope I hear from you. <3_

“What do I do?” I asked, half frantic. “Oh my god.”

“He wants to meet you,” Mila said. “You know what? Let’s do it. Let’s get him out here, on my turf, and I’ll be nearby as backup, and we can make him show up if he really means it. I mean.” She shook her head. “It’s up to you, of course. Do you want to meet him?”

“This sounds like a bad idea,” I said weakly.

“That’s why I’ll come with,” Mila reminded me. “I’ll have backup, and we can call your friends and bring them along too, and if someone shows up and tries something we’ll kick his butt.”

I laughed at the image of Georgi and Chris jumping an internet predator. “This is such a bad idea. What if he shows up and he doesn’t really like me?”

“Then I’ll beat him up, he has no idea what you’ve been through to get here,” Mila sniffed, crossing her arms.

I thought hard about it. “I’m… I’m going to message him,” I finally said. “Just to tell him I’m still alive and to stop texting my old phone.”

Mila raised her hands in surrender and I pulled the keyboard back to me.

 

_Hey. I’m okay. Sorry for scaring you. A lot of stuff happened since the Open. I don’t have a phone anymore. Things are crazy. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what I want yet. Sorry._

 

Mila put her arms around my shoulders and hugged me. “You wanna play Playstation until he answers?”

“Sure,” I said, and ten minutes later we were engrossed in a racing game that she claimed was set to easy mode. It was easy to be distracted by the fact that I kept running off the racetrack instead of turning, and we played the game for over half an hour before I gave up on losing to her over and over again.

“Do you want to see if he responded?” Mila asked as she switched over to single-player mode.

The butterflies came back, but I’d already done so many emotional things that day that I just squared my shoulders and nodded. “I can do it.”

“Well, no,” Mila said, setting her controller down and rolling off the couch. “I need to log you back in. Gimme a sec and then you can go Romeo your little heart out.”

I snorted as she woke the computer up and typed her password in.

“Hey, I’ll get Dad to make a profile for you,” she added once she was done. “You’ll need it, especially when you start up school again.”

“Am I going to do that?” I asked, sitting back down in my office chair.

“Probably.” Mila shrugged. “I mean, you kind of need it, right?”

“Yeah.” I sighed as I fiddled with the mouse. “I have no idea what happened with my old school, or how it would work--”

“You might not, but I’ll bet Dad does. Leave it to him,” Mila said. “You don’t need to worry about anything, he’ll probably sit you down soon to discuss it.”

“Cool.” I looked at the screen, with the webpage displayed. “Okay. Here goes.”

Mila crossed her fingers, and I refreshed the page.

One new message appeared.

“Aw,” Mila said, tilting her head. “That’s him, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, hesitating. “He responded almost right away, too.”

“I hope he’s genuine,” Mila said. “Because this is like a movie romance, and I will literally kick his butt if he’s been leading you on.”

I smiled a little, and finally made myself click on the message.

 

_I’m so glad you’re okay. What happened? Do you want to tell me? Did you lose your phone? You don’t have to answer this. I’m just happy you responded._

 

“An actually nice guy, and of course he’s probably into dudes,” Mila muttered, but she was smirking. “It’s always like that.”

“What if we do this?” I asked, a bit abruptly.

“What? Ask him to meet up with you?”

“Yeah. What if we do it? What if we plan it out for after your ice time on Saturday, and we go somewhere and stake it out, and all that?”

Mila grinned, and it was only a little predatory. “I’m down to be the calvary.”

“Okay.” I settled my fingers over the home row on the keyboard. “Okay.”

 

_I’m about to go to bed now, but I want to meet you. There’s too much to just explain, and I think I deserve to get to do it face to face. Can you come out to Ann Arbor on Saturday? I’ll check here tomorrow. Goodnight._

“I can’t do much more of this,” I said, logging off from the message board. I felt mentally exhausted, and ended up collapsing on the couch to watch Mila play _Tomb Raider_ for a while before Mrs. Castillo called down for us to go to bed.

 

The next day, Mr. Castillo set up my own profile on the desktop PC in the basement. The computer was running Windows XP, so I already knew how to work it. I thanked him, and he winked before disappearing into the upstairs office for a while. We ended up going into town, first to another session with the counselor, and then to the Sprint store to pick up my new phone, because it turned out that Mr. Castillo had spent the morning on the phone with a Sprint representative getting it set up. The first thing I did once I got back to the house was program Chris and Georgi’s cell phone numbers into it.

Around lunch, I texted them with the plan. Chris responded first, and then Georgi, both of them volunteering to join Mila as my honor guard. That night, once Mila was home from the rink, we all planned out where we’d meet up, when, and how everyone would get there. I’d go with Mila to the rink, and Chris and Georgi would catch a ride out to Ann Arbor with Georgi’s mom. We were going to stake out the cafe at the rink, and as soon as bravep0rk agreed to it, we’d nail down the time.

Mila and I headed down into the basement after dinner again. I logged into my new profile on the PC and pulled up the message board, logging into that too. There was a message from last night waiting for me when I clicked on my inbox.

 

_I will meet with you wherever you want me to. You’re in Ann Arbor? Wow. I feel like I missed a lot. Where and when? I promise I’ll show up this time._

I already had my response ready.

 

_This Saturday, at 3 PM. Ann Arbor Ice Cube. I’ll be in the cafe. Can you do that?_

We waited for a bit, and I refreshed the page a few times before we saw the answer.

 

_I’ll be there, I promise._

“I’m really doing this,” I said out loud, and Mila squeezed my shoulders again.

“You’re on a lucky streak,” she said. “I can tell.”

“Mmhmm.”

I sent a reply to let bravep0rk know I’d gotten the message, and then I let her drag me back upstairs to watch _Battlestar Galactica_ until bedtime. It wasn’t quite enough to distract me, but it was fun.

Only after the house was quiet and dark, and I was in my bed, staring at the ceiling, did the absurdity of this whole situation come rushing back at me. What did I think was going to happen?

 _Don’t get your hopes up,_ I told myself, but I couldn’t get myself to really believe it. I got out of bed to let in whichever dog was scratching at my door, and then fell asleep with Queenie draped over my legs and dreamed of another fantasy masquerade ball.

 

I woke up on Saturday feeling like my heart was going to pound its way out of my chest. I’d slept later than I usually tended to - the habit of waking up early to cook and do chores before school was kind of hard to break, and it would come back randomly every other day. I would’ve thought that nerves would wake me up early, but whatever.

I headed downstairs to the kitchen to see Mrs. Castillo working on an egg omelette casserole, and she wouldn’t let me help her. I wandered into the family room and ended up watching the news with Mr. Castillo, and by the time Mila came downstairs the breakfast was finished cooking.

This time, when we got to the rink, I didn’t take Mila up on renting skates. It would have helped with the nervous energy, but I didn’t want to deal with the crowds anyway. I instead divided my time between the arcade (I just watched other people playing games) and rinkside, where I either read more of _The Hobbit_ or watched Mila skate.

Yakov had arrived at his scheduled time, and he didn’t bother me about skating under him. He did ask me about what I thought of Mila’s choreography, and that was fun. It was cool to talk shop with someone who didn’t treat me like a dumb kid.

Mila’s ice time did manage to crawl by after a certain point, and by the time Georgi and Chris arrived, she was starting to wind down.

Georgi’s mouth dropped when he saw her, and then rolled his eyes when Chris and I started laughing at him. Mila took it in stride, and by “took it in stride” I mean she winked in our direction a lot and talked coyly while she was unlacing her skates.

“I’m going to change out of these sweaty workout clothes,” she added, and I thought Georgi was going to swallow his tongue.

“Cool it, loverboy,” Chris said quietly. “You’re looking like Winston right now.”

Georgi shuddered at that mental image, and that set Chris and me off again.

Yakov didn’t stick around too long after that, but he still did not bring up my possible skating career, which made me grateful. He told me to remind Mila to take a break from conditioning the next day, and also to keep her away from fancy coffee that would ruin her diet, before heading off to do whatever he was doing for the rest of the day.

“Is that stuff really that bad for someone’s figure?” Georgi wondered.

“I wouldn’t know,” I said. “I don’t know if I even like coffee.”

“Coffee is the nectar of the gods,” Chris said with a little authority. He nudged me. “Anyway. Where’s the cafe at?”

By the time Mila rejoined us, we’d grabbed one of the tables in front of the counter and bought ourselves some drinks. The cafe was moderately busy - post-lunch lull, but there were plenty of people milling around. I hoped it would be enough to deter any weirdness, and maybe provide us some camouflage.

“It’s almost three,” Mila said, dropping into the empty seat next to Chris. “You haven’t texted this bravep0rk guy yet, right?”

“Not yet,” I said. “I don’t know if I’m giving him my number again, in case this goes south.”

“The way he was talking about your skating, I think it won’t,” Mila said.

“Oh, did you read the messages?” Chris turned to her. “What did they say?”

“Lots of soppy compliments, a lot of apologizing, and some self-deprecation.” Mila smirked. “I’d kill to have a guy do that for me.”

Georgi looked like he was about to start taking notes.

“Well, it’s almost go-time,” I said, trying to ignore the re-emergence of butterflies in my stomach.

“You’ve got this, buddy,” Georgi said, doing a fistpump. “Be romantic.”

“Do the exact opposite of what Georgi does,” Chris added.

“You deserve this,” Mila said. “Don’t forget.”

I nodded, and sat back to let everyone else talk instead.

It was a good thing that I’d gotten a hot chocolate, because it helped to have something to do with my hands. I focused on breathing in through my nose, and going over things I needed to say out loud if given the chance. I also needed to figure out if I was… angry? Upset? Peeved? at being stood up at the Open.

I mean, in all honesty, I hadn’t really been stood up. I’d left early, and I’d _had_ to. But… bravep0rk had known what my outfit looked like in advance, and I’d spoken my fake name out loud in the locker room after everyone had shown up. So…

I wouldn’t know what to think until bravep0rk showed up. I kept breathing.

 _I deserve this_ , I thought. If things went well… well, maybe I’d finally get something special, something I’d always dreamed of outside of skating again.

I’d reached out and taken my skating dream for myself, with a lot of help from my friends. I could do it again.

Right?

I checked my phone. It was just a few minutes past three. I’d give bravep0rk until half-past. I didn’t even know if he knew how to get here.

The minutes crept by, and I sipped at my hot chocolate while listening to my friends’ conversation. Georgi kept trying to give romance tips, probably culled from his worldly dating experience. Chris kept nixing whatever Georgi was trying to say, and Mila was just laughing. It helped get rid of the tension I kept feeling creeping in.

At quarter-past, I was starting to think I’d been stood up again, when two very familiar figures stepped into the lobby of the ice rink.

“Oh shit,” I said.

Chris and Georgi made to look, and I hissed at them to not. Mila ignored me and looked.

“What is _he_ doing here?” she asked in surprise, and that was enough to get Chris and Georgi to twist around and see.

Yuuri Katsuki and Phichit Chulanont were looking surveying the front hall of the rink and examining the stuff on the walls, and Yuuri was carrying a big skate bag slung over his shoulder. Phichit elbowed him and gestured towards the cafe, and Yuuri nodded.

“Oh my god,” Chris said. He was clearly thinking what I was thinking.

“It can’t be,” Georgi said.

“Wait,” Mila said.

I felt myself starting to hunch, trying to make myself as small as possible.

“Oh my god, they’re headed this way,” Mila said, covering her mouth with her hands. “Oh my god. Oh my god. That’s _Yuuri Katsuki_.”

“Oh my god,” Georgi echoed faintly.

“This might just be a coincidence,” I said, even if I mostly didn’t believe it. I focused on my breathing again. “I mean… it could just be…”

But Yuuri’s eyes were sweeping back and forth, searching for someone, and it felt like a million volts of electricity zinging through my body when they finally landed on me. Everyone at my table went silent.

I saw his lips form my nickname, and it was almost like hearing him say it. “ _Vitya._ ”

Phichit followed his gaze and raised his eyebrows, but he was smiling as he gave Yuuri a little push towards me.

No one spoke as he hesitantly made his way over to our table, and I felt like the world was standing still as he drew up next to me.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said softly. “But… I promised.”

“Oh my god,” I said.

He seemed to be having trouble figuring out what to do with his hands, but I could see the moment his resolve solidified and he clenched them into fists at his sides and looked me in the eye. “I’m so sorry, Vitya, but I’m so happy that I could finally meet you.”

“I-is this some kind of joke?” I asked, hardly daring to believe it.

Yuuri’s face went blank, his eyes flashing with hurt. “It’s not,” he said, his voice only wobbling a little. “I swear, it’s not.”

“ _You’re_ Pork Boy?” Chris finally demanded, _just_ on the far side of ‘too loud,’ making everyone jump. “You?! Mister Future Olympian, World Class Athlete, and World Champion?”

Yuuri blushed. “I-- I’m just--”

“Holy shit,” Mila said, her hands still over her mouth. “I can’t believe this.”

“Prove it,” Chris said, crossing his arms. “Prove it to me. Tell us something only Pork Boy would know.”

Phichit had joined us by now, and he just looked amused by everything. “Yeah, Yuuri. Go ahead. Prove yourself to your love.”

“Shut _up_ , Phichit,” Yuuri grumbled. He looked at me again. “I… I’ve been helping you with _The Great Gatsby._ ”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“That’s _it_?” Chris made a face.

“I… I sent you an article on the roaring twenties and the Gilded Age, and how that tied in with the stock market crashing,” Yuuri tried again. “And… um, in August I think I told you about how no one would let me play Halo anymore, because I kept getting too competitive and beating everyone?”

“Yeah, you did,” I said, still dazed.

“That totally did happen, too,” Phichit added. “I’ve never seen anyone that die-hard about a video game.”

Yuuri fidgeted. “I... I told you about… how I’m not sure I can… live up to my parents’ achievements? Or if I even want to?”

That shut Phichit up, and he stared at Yuuri with a surprised expression.

I nodded again. “Yeah, you did.” I looked at my friends. “He… he’s for real.”

“What the _hell_ , man,” Georgi said, looking exactly how I felt.

“So wait a second,” Mila said, making a face. “You two met on a forum, right? On a thread _about you_. What were you doing there?!”

“Yeah, Yuuri, what _were_ you doing there?” Phichit asked, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Yuuri went even redder. “Oh, come on, don’t tell me you haven’t Googled yourself,” he muttered.

“I argued with you!” I said, suddenly remembering. “You were down-talking yourself and I started arguing with you! About you. Oh my god.”

Yuuri buried his face in his hands. “Yeah,” he finally admitted. “Yeah, that was when we first started talking to each other.”

“I can’t believe this,” Mila said. “I’m… I think I need a drink.”

“Yakov said not too many calories,” I said automatically, and Mila made a face at me before excusing herself to grab something at the counter.

“Did he pass your test?” Phichit asked Chris, who still had his arms crossed.

“If he’s good enough for Vic, I guess so,” Chris said.

Yuuri looked at me again. “I… I can’t believe I’m really doing this,” he said.

I looked at my friends, who widened their eyes at me. I had no idea what they were trying to say. “I can’t either,” I admitted. “I… I wasn’t sure I wanted to do this after all.”

“I wouldn’t blame you,” Yuuri said, playing with his jacket.

“Why don’t you two have a nice talk?” Phichit said, pushing Yuuri towards me again one last time before heading towards the counter. “A little heart-to-heart, huh?”

Chris and Georgi exchanged looks, and then they were getting up as well and nodding reassuringly to me. I wanted to tell them to stay, but…

But I also wanted to be alone with bravep0rk. With _Yuuri_.

There was an awkward silence for a moment, and then Yuuri gestured at the empty seat next to me. “Can I?”

I nodded and scooted a little to give him room. He had an unreadable expression on his face, sort of how he looked before stepping onto the ice to compete. I only ever saw him like this when he had his glasses off and his hair slicked back. It was a bit weird to see him so serious in his street clothes.

“Am I…” I almost didn’t want to know the answer, but I _had_ to find out. “Am I not what you expected?”

Yuuri laughed softly. “I should be asking that.”

“Why would you think that?” I asked, confused. “Y-- you’re _Yuuri Katsuki_. Do you know how many people would kill to be in my spot right now? How could you possibly think anyone would be disappointed to meet you?”

“Well,” Yuuri said, shrugging. “I mean. I’m not really… all that, you know. I mean, I don’t know why anyone thinks any of that stuff, really.”

“You’re a gold medalist,” I said flatly. “You’re an amazing athlete, and you have been for years.”

Yuuri frowned at me. “Yeah, but I only got gold last year,” he pointed out.

“So?” I suddenly felt weirdly passionate, like I needed to make sure he knew _exactly_ how I felt about his skating. “Listen, I wasn’t kidding when I said that I’ve loved your skating for years before everyone else started paying attention. I’ve been _watching_ you for years. Ever since you started training at Ice Castle.”

Yuuri stared at me. “You… seriously?”

I nodded. “I… my dad was still alive then,” I said, pressing on past that. “He brought me to work with him at the rink, and I saw you there, and you were so _beautiful_. I wanted to skate like you, I knew it right away.”

“Really?” Yuuri asked, and he looked as shocked as I had felt when I saw him walk in.

I nodded. “I… I don’t want to sound creepy, but I always try to watch you skate.” I looked down into my empty hot chocolate cup. “The way you move, it’s like your body makes music. I always knew you’d be meant for more than the pewter medal. I was _so smug_ when you took gold last year, but I was proud, too. I kind of…” I laughed, a little self-consciously. “I wasn’t allowed to skate, and so I would sort of… live through you, I guess. Ask Georgi and Chris, there was a time in middle school where you were the only thing I’d talk about.”

Yuuri’s eyes hadn’t left my face, and _that_ was a really intense feeling. “I… I’m not creeped out by it at all,” he said, and I could tell he was being honest. “I’m kind of… honored, really. To think that I inspired _you_ , and then I got you to enter the Open all by yourself… who came up with your routine?”

“I did,” I said, picking at my nail.

Yuuri’s eyes widened. “You did all that to meet me,” he said. “Even though you didn’t know it was me. I… you make me feel so _special_ , Vitya.”

I blushed at the nickname. “Well. You made me feel special,” I said. “You made me feel _normal_. You kept me sane, these past months. It’s only fair you feel special too.”

Yuuri smiled, and I smiled back at him.

“Oh,” he said suddenly, and he grabbed his bag. “When I got back to my locker after the Open, I found these in my cubby--” He unzipped his bag and then he pulled out _my mother’s skates_. I felt my throat close up with emotion again as he presented them to me.

“They’re really distinct,” he said, smiling. “And I figured you were missing them.”

I took them into my arms and hugged them to my chest. “They were my mother’s,” I said.

“Your mother?”

“Nina Nikiforova. That’s why I picked that name.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened again. “Wow,” he said softly. “How did I not know you were Nina Nikiforova’s son?”

I shrugged. “My dad never liked to talk about her. I think he missed her all the way up to the end.”

Yuuri reached out, almost hesitant, but all my fear was gone. I met him in the middle, and slipped my hand into his. He squeezed my hand in response.

“Why are you here in Ann Arbor?” Yuuri asked after a long silence, and I sighed.

“Long story.”

“I want to know everything,” Yuuri said, squeezing my hand again, and I felt my chest tighten at that.

“You sure? It’s kind of depressing.”

Yuuri nodded, and I hugged my mom’s skates to my chest again.

“Okay, well… my stepmother called DCFS on me after I skated in the Open, and she sent me away with them. I’m living with a foster family right now.”

“Why did she do that?” Yuuri asked, horrified.

I laughed bitterly. “I think she hates me, to be honest. She made me quit skating after my dad died, and said she had to focus on my step-brothers’ skating careers.”

“What, Winston and Rupert?” Yuuri made a face. “What careers? They’re both terrible. You outshine them by lightyears, and that’s _without_ a coach.”

“That means a lot to me,” I said, smiling. “Maybe she was jealous, or pissed off that I could be better than her sons. Either way, she really didn’t want me to compete anymore. She almost ruined ice skating for me, to be honest.”

“I’m glad she didn’t,” Yuuri said. “What a bitch.”

“Everyone says that,” I said, laughing again.

“It’s true,” Yuuri muttered. “God. I’m so sorry you had to live with that.”

“I am too,” I agreed. “But… my foster parents so far are amazing, and I told them that I like guys and they were cool with it, so…”

Yuuri’s eyes were shining as he looked up at me. “You came out to them?”

“Yeah.”

“So… you’re…”

“Yeah.”

Yuuri looked like he was trying to say something, but couldn’t get the words out. I still could catch his meaning, though.

“I… I think I’d like to try it,” I said. “Being… with someone I like.”

Yuuri looked up at me through his beautiful eyelashes. “Do you have someone you like?”

“Yeah,” I said, trying for an airy tone. “He’s a pretty cool guy. Figure skater, maybe you know him. One of the best.”

“Hah,” Yuuri said. “Well, that is quite a coincidence. The guy I like is a figure skater, too.”

We both grinned at each other.

“Do you want to skate a little?” Yuuri asked finally, and I laughed.

“You know what?” I asked, and I made to get off the bench with my mother’s skates under my arm.

Yuuri followed suit, his mouth twisted into a wry smile. “What?”

“I would love to skate with you, right now. I’ve always wanted to.”

“Awesome,” he said, and he took my hand again as we left the cafe behind.

 

“Seriously?”

Yuuri drifted to a stop as he processed my expression. “What?”

“You figured it out? How obvious was I?”

Yuuri laughed as I drew up next to him, avoiding the other skaters. It was public ice time, and we scooted away from the outside of the rink to give everyone else some space to skate. “Well, to be honest, I didn’t recognize you at first,” he said. “But… when I saw your program and heard the music, I kind of _knew_ you were responding to me.”

“I mean… you’re not wrong,” I admitted. “I did design the program based around _Eros_ and the whole playboy chasing the prettiest woman story that Plisetsky kept bringing up.”

“Yeah, that was my first hint. My next hint was when I went back to Ice Castle and you weren’t there anymore. Yuuko and Nishigori were both worried about you, too,” Yuuri added as we started skating again.

I was touched. “Be sure to tell them I’m okay?”

“Sure,” Yuuri agreed. “I asked Nishigori about you, and he got really upset that he didn’t really know you all that well. I don’t think he even knows that Mrs. Montgomery is your stepmother.”

“Well, to be honest, I think I’d be better off with less people knowing I’m related to those assholes in any way, shape, or form,” I said, flipping around to skate backwards for a bit. “Bit embarrassing, you know?”

“Relations through marriage, though,” Yuuri pointed out.

“Still. I lived with them for almost five years. Plus, they kind of ruined my reputation.” I grimaced.

“Well, _their_ reputation is going to take a hit,” Yuuri said. “My mom mentioned it recently, I guess some rumors have been going around about how your stepmother’s treated you. I didn’t know what to think, and then you confirmed it.”

I winced. “That’s not going to be pretty.”

“She’ll deserve whatever she gets,” Yuuri said. “She should never have hurt you.”

I blushed. “My hero,” I said, fluttering my eyelashes to cover up the blush.

Yuuri smiled and took my hand again, swinging me around like a pairs skater. We had to let go again before we overbalanced, but we were both laughing as we did.

“But yeah, I mostly figured it out at the Open,” Yuuri said. “I was kicking myself for not seeing it before. And then when I realized who you were and that you were actually really, _really_ good, my anxiety got the better of me.”

“Really?” I asked. “Why would you be anxious about meeting me?”

“Anxiety is kind of my modus operandi,” Yuuri said, running a hand through his hair. “It gets really bad sometimes, and Yurio is working with me on it, but he wasn’t there when I was trying to psych myself up to talk to you. I had _so many chances_ and I didn’t take a single one, and I was pissed at myself for the rest of the day. When you didn’t answer any of my texts or messages, I thought I’d screwed myself forever.”

“It really wasn’t your fault,” I reassured him. “Like I said, I couldn’t respond.”

“I mean, I know that now, but _still_.” Yuuri rubbed his temples. “I have a bad habit of going into death spirals with this kind of stuff. Phichit had to talk me down.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s really not your fault.”

I winced again. “It kind of is.”

“It’s _not_ ,” Yuuri insisted. “End of discussion.”

We dodged a few kids and I decided to show off a little, circling into the center of the ice and going into a sit spin.

Yuuri clapped for me once I’d come out of it. “So now what will you do for skating?” he asked as he joined me at center ice.

I shrugged. “Not sure. Mila’s coach offered to start me training under him, he saw me skate at the Open.”

“Oh my god, do it,” Yuuri said, his eyes wide. “Do it. You should totally do it.”

I had been thinking about it on and off all day. “I’m tempted.”

“ _Do it_ ,” Yuuri said, taking my hands in his. “Please. Please, do it. If your foster parents will support you, and if Mila’s coach is willing to take you on, _do it_. I don’t want you to stop skating.”

“I don’t want to stop skating either,” I admitted. “And… this is going to sound awful,” I lowered my voice, and Yuuri leaned in to hear me go on, “but I really want to stick it to Dina and my step-brothers. I want to beat them in competition, show them what they couldn’t break.”

Yuuri’s eyes were sparkling. “I’ll support you,” he said, and I fell even more in love with him.

Oh my god. I was really going to do it.

“One day, I might be competing against _you_ ,” I said, suddenly realizing that distinct possibility. It was _thrilling_.

“You’ll give me a run for my money,” Yuuri predicted. “And if I lose to you, it will be an honor.”

How had I gotten so lucky?

“Well then,” I said. “If I’ve got such high goals to reach, I’d better get started A.S.A.P. Right?”

“Definitely,” Yuuri agreed, and then we took off to race around the rink again, and it felt like I was flying.


	7. The Cinderella Boy

After that fateful Saturday, everything began to fall into place.

Mila insisted that we didn’t need to, but when we ended up going back to the house a lot later than we’d expected, I convinced her that we needed to fill her parents in on what we’d been doing. Mr. and Mrs. Castillo were a bit concerned - and even a little peeved at the both of us - but after everything was explained and all, they both decided that what was done was done, and we had been very lucky that it all had worked out. We were still both grounded for a month, though, and I decided that I could handle losing TV, Playstation, and internet privileges if it meant I could continue to stay with them in their house.

I had my mother’s skates with me again, where they belonged, and I surprised all three of them when I said that I wanted to take Yakov up on his offer. After all, now I had a promise to keep.

Yakov showed up the next day at lunch to discuss the official business, stuff like contracts and fees and paperwork. I tried to be helpful, but mostly sat and listened as best as I could as the Castillos worked things out with him. It was decided that I would begin conditioning for ice skating right away, and the things to focus on included getting my weight back to where it needed to be along with getting me back into ballet. I was super rusty after four years of very little dancing, and Mila volunteered to get me started. Yakov already had a ballet instructor ready to go - his ex-wife.

I really should have known more about ballet and the world of dance as a skater, but like I said, my dad was a hockey guy. I’d taken ballet at a studio in Perrault and had been pretty average, preferring to focus on my ice time. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate the flexibility that ballet gave me, but I definitely hadn’t appreciated being able to take up ballet in the first place until I lost access to it overall.

In any case, when I told Yuuri that Yakov’s ex-wife was going to add me to her roster, he freaked out. I should have guessed that Yakov would marry the former Prima of the elite Russian ballet troupe. From the way Mila was acting, training under Lilia Baranovskaya would be additional punishment for our misbehavior, more so for me since I wasn’t used to it.

I was more interested in the meal plan that Yakov pinned to the fridge. I knew about weight loss diets - Dina had attempted a few throughout the years - but gaining? Wasn’t it just… eat stuff?

Nope, the meal plan that Yakov gave us was _very_ specific: _this_ much protein, and _this_ much of complex carbohydrates, fruit and veggies instead of processed sugars, whole grains all the way… dang. No wonder both of my step-brothers hadn’t really been all that healthy and able to maintain their stamina. I’d been cooking their meals for years, and I could count the number of times I’d been asked to cook vegetables on one hand. Neither of Dina’s sons had liked greens; in fact, Winston outright hated them.

I wondered how much more exasperated Celestino must have been when he figured out that - if he’d been giving them meal plans like this - they were straight-up ignoring his advice. Poor guy. I hoped he would be able to move on soon.

Anyway, with the basics set out, and having been grounded, I began my conditioning. I made a conscious effort to help Mrs. Castillo cook meals at least three times a week, which was actually fun. I enjoyed cooking now, especially since I’d get to eat some of what I made. I was learning recipes as well, and discovered the Holy Grail in the form of Mrs. Castillo’s hereditary cookbook. I’d already pegged a page for one of my eventual free days - authentic New Orleans gumbo. It looked _amazing_.

The following Tuesday, Mr. Castillo took me into Ann Arbor proper to meet Lilia. The former Prima had her own studio set up downtown, and lived in the apartment above it. She was a tall and thin woman with eyes as sharp as tacks, and I almost wet myself as she gave me the twice-over (she checked my teeth for some reason? Was it a Russian thing? _What?_ ) before declaring exactly what I already knew: I was in no shape to skate competitively, or even train for it. She gave me instructions for home exercises, and recommended yoga on the days I wasn’t with her.

Because I was not formally enrolled in school yet, I spent the first month of conditioning either with Lilia at her studio or in the Castillos’ basement, taking advantage of Mrs. Castillo’s little miniature gym set up down there, right by the office area. I followed the strict instructions from both Yakov and Lilia and didn’t try to do more than I’d been cleared for. It would be really stupid of me to hurt myself in the first month of my comeback, right?

When I wasn’t working out or doing ballet, I was working my way through the bookshelves of the house, playing with the dogs, or texting with my friends. And Yuuri.

It was _wild_ , to have him in my phone. As _Yuuri_. I felt warm all over whenever I got a text from him, and I expected that feeling to go away after a while but it _didn’t_.

Eventually, near the end of our grounding, I asked if Yuuri could actually come over during one of his off days. The competitive season had started up, and he was due at his first Grand Prix assignment very soon. I had no doubt he’d advance to the Final, but from what he said, Plisetsky was working him pretty hard in preparation. Still, we’d both been working hard; we deserved a day of fun before the craziness began.

Mrs. Castillo got excited when she realized Yuuri was… well, could I even call him my _boyfriend_? What even were we to each other? He was special. I’d stick with that. Anyway, Mrs. Castillo definitely wanted to meet the guy who had spurred me into skating for real again (and, in a way, landed me in their home. Wow. Crazy. I needed to sit down.) It took all of one phone call to figure out, and once Yuuri managed to pull off his skate at the Rostelecom Cup he was free to visit, cleared by his coach for a fun day as long as we didn’t ruin his diet.

For Mila, I joined her parents rinkside at all her competitions and got to watch the _fascinating_ world of ladies’ singles. And the scoring. Which was… _weird_. It felt like guys got more leeway when it came to scoring, but girls got points deducted if they had a hair out of place. _Geez_.

My foster sister managed to overcome all that, though, and it was surreal - read: _really cool_ \- to see her on top of the podium accepting her medal. Mila got lots of hugs from us, and I got to hold her medal. Mr. Castillo snapped a shot of when she looped it around my neck along with hers, and that picture ended up framed on the Skating Wall.

Going with Mila and the Castillos to Skate Canada was the first time I’d ever traveled out of the country, which meant that I’d had to get my passport renewed and all that. Since that had been lost in the house fire years ago, I had to get my passport and a bunch of other legal documents reissued. Mrs. Castillo took care of it for me and told me to focus on getting back in shape and being healthy. I thought she was working too hard.

Since Mila and Yuuri were both in the senior division, I didn’t encounter my stepfamily at all at the competitions I attended. I was only half-disappointed; on the one hand, I kind of wanted to see the train wrecks that would ensue… but the thought of encountering Dina was a scary one. Plus, Mr. Castillo mentioned under his breath that he didn’t want to have to hold his wife back from trying to jump my stepmother. Mrs. Castillo was still working with a colleague to get Dina investigated, so we decided it would be best if we avoided my stepfamily for as long as possible.

Right around the time Yuuri departed for Moscow, Yakov declared me fit to start skating again. Of course, he was busy with Mila, so I wouldn’t actually get to skate with him until after Thanksgiving.

Lilia, even though she was strict and a little tough, turned out to be pretty cool as an instructor. She even said, leaving no room for arguments, that she’d help choreograph my long program for the next year. She’d seen videos of my exhibition at the Open and actually been _impressed_.

“If you can pull that off with no formal training, I have no doubt that I can bring out an even more refined performance from you,” she said, which was the highest form of praise that I’d ever received from her.

Yuuri being overseas meant a blackout of communication, because neither of us could call or text internationally with our phone plans and he wouldn’t have access to a computer even as my grounding was lifted. Still, the Rostelecom Cup was only a weekend, and he would be back by the Tuesday afterward. It was next to impossible for me to catch the actual event, thanks to none of the sports channels broadcasting it, but the messaging board came through for me there and I at least got score updates. Yuuri took silver in Moscow, thanks to an upstart Canadian who favored higher technical scores over interpretation, but Yuuri had already confided in me that he planned to peak at the end of the season.

I kept tagging along with Mila to the Ice Cube for her ice time, and sometimes I’d get out on the ice with her and do a little skating. All the conditioning I was doing, both outside of Lilia’s studio and within it, really made a difference that I could actually feel once I had my mother’s skates on. Mila would joke that we matched, but near Thanksgiving I started noticing a pinch in the toes.

“You’re outgrowing them,” Yakov said when I reported the pain. “It’s time to get you your own pair, brand-new.”

I had to swallow another lump in my throat, but the next day Mr. Castillo cleared off a small table and set it up in front of the Skating Wall, carefully arranging my mother’s skates for display. He even went and found a photo of my mom from her competitive days and had it framed, hanging it right next to her skates. I couldn’t manage to get out the words _thank you so much_ so I just hugged him and maybe cried some more, and he seemed to get it.

Right before Thanksgiving break, on my off day, the case workers from MDHHS showed up for a home visit. They sat me down with the Castillos to ask gentle, non-leading questions about how I was settling in, and then discussed my adjustment with the Castillos. Both of them looked pleased when they left, but I was left a bit shaken - I’d spent the entire visit feeling like everything was about to be yanked away, and I had to go hide in my room for a bit to shake it off. Mila came upstairs and dragged me into the basement so she could convince me to play her in Crash Team Racing until I could convince myself that I wasn’t being taken away again.

Thanksgiving with the Castillos was not like Thanksgiving with my stepfamily. For one thing, we didn’t stay home - we went out to Detroit to meet up with Mr. Castillo’s family. My new extended family - because oh my god did it feel like I was officially being inducted into a fraternity or something - was mostly based around Detroit; a couple aunts in Riverview, an uncle in Wyandotte, and an aunt in Plymouth. There were a lot of kids, too, and they all crowded me at first, peppering me with questions I wasn’t ready to answer, so Mila chased them off for me.

Mr. Castillo’s parents were a sweet little old Filipino couple who tried to reclaim their house’s kitchen, but all their kids blocked them out and brought the turkey and stuffing and _everything_. Mila and I only indulged a little, and Grandma Castillo rolled her eyes when she found out that I was going into skating as well. “You keep picking up skaters,” she told her son, who laughed. “Are you trying to adopt them all?”

I didn’t want the evening to end, even if I had to split a slice of pie with Mila and actively refuse more stuffing instead of… well, stuffing my face. Everyone was loud and happy and friendly, and I felt welcome.

“They’ve all been wanting to meet you for a while,” Mr. Castillo said as we were driving home after dinner. “I’m glad it finally worked out.”

“Where’s your family?” I asked Mrs. Castillo, and she snorted.

“Louisiana,” she said. “And a few in Texas.”

“Yikes.”

“We like this drive better, but you’ll probably meet the southerners sooner or later,” Mrs. Castillo promised.

I couldn’t wait.

 

One thing that was nice about Thanksgiving was that Mila and Yuuri were both off from school. On Black Friday, instead of standing in line at a Best Buy or wherever the good sales were, Yuuri came over to Ann Arbor to spend the day with me and my foster family.

Mila, the lunatic, went with her friends to raid the mall for doorbusters at dawn and came home around noon to collapse in the basement with their prizes. Yuuri and I were outside with the dogs, chasing Duke around in the leaves and trying to get his ball from him. It was literally the best Black Friday I’ve ever had.

Once we’d gotten tired out from chasing cockapoos in the backyard, we came inside for hot tea and leftover turkey sandwiches. Mrs. Castillo asked Yuuri about a billion questions, all while Mr. Castillo tried hard not to laugh - Yuuri later on told me it felt like he was being interrogated, and the look on his face when I told him that my foster mother was a lawyer was probably the funniest thing I’ll ever see.

After he headed home for the evening, Mrs. Castillo gave me her approval of Yuuri. I texted him my congratulations for thoroughly charming my foster parents.

Saturday, Chris and Georgi came out to Ann Arbor and Mrs. Castillo drove us out to the mall so we could explore and maybe get some post Black Friday deals. I was given an allowance for the first time in years, and was so scared to spend it that it took two hours for Georgi to convince me to go back and buy stuff I’d seen when we first walked in. It was _fantastic_ , even if I couldn’t get everything I wanted.

Yuuri hadn’t really filled me in on the goings-on at Tremaine High after I’d left, but Chris and Georgi were more than happy to; the two of them had started getting roped into Yuuri’s group of friends during P.E. and lunch, which was _wild_. Chris blushed and changed the subject when Georgi mentioned Phichit and elbowed him knowingly.

I was just happy that they were happy, and that everyone back in Perrault was treating them well. I didn’t have to ask, but my friends did tell me all about the kind of crap that my stepfamily was going through now.

I had a feeling that Chris’s mom had definitely fanned the flames there; Dina and her sons had pretty much become pariahs in the town, and even in the figure skating community. From what they told me, lots of prominent coaches had dropped Ice Castle as their home rink, choosing to go out of town for their ice time. Yuuri had already told me he’d switched rinks, unable to stand being anywhere near my stepfamily after finding out what they’d done to me. Yuuko and Nishigori had quit as well, and now Dina was being forced to actually run the rink herself. And she was doing a _terrible_ job, based on what I was hearing.

Celestino was still in his coaching contract with Rupert and Winston, so he was still around, but rumor had it that he was looking to pick up new talent. Phichit was planning on approaching him, because his current coach was looking to retire. I hoped that worked out.

Winston had flamed out at Regionals, while Rupert had managed to claw his way onto the podium with a bronze medal. Even with that under his belt, he still couldn’t hold up against the rest of the Midwest, and he didn’t even come close to getting on the podium at Sectionals. Neither of them had qualified for the Junior Grand Prix last year, so it looked like I wasn’t going to be seeing them at any other competitions.

Thank _God_.

I’d missed getting to celebrate Yuuri’s birthday with him, due to his traveling and training, but I’d been able to sing Happy Birthday to him over the phone and the next time I saw him, I gave him his birthday present: a teddy bear from Build-A-Bear that I’d tried to make look like him as much as possible. Yuuri had started crying when he opened the little box and taken the teddy out, and I’d ended up letting him cry into my shoulder while we hugged it out. It was the cutest reaction I’d ever seen.

The week after Thanksgiving, Yakov showed up at the Castillo house to pick me up for my first time on the ice officially skating under him. Mr. Castillo had gotten me new skates, and I would be spending the next two weeks breaking them in enough to start practicing jumps. Yakov watched me like a hawk as I took to the ice in my new skates, and the difference between them and my mother’s skates was _astounding_. Even though I was doing a lot of drills and even more on-ice conditioning, it was the most fun I’d had on skates other than that time with Yuuri. Yakov seemed pretty pleased when our ice time came to an end, and when he dropped me back off at the Castillo house three hours later, he was already talking about ideas for programs for me.

I couldn’t _wait_.

 

When it came to my schooling, it was decided - with my input, don’t worry - that homeschooling might work out for the near future. Mr. Castillo reached out to colleagues in order to find an instructor while he had me evaluated.

I wasn’t surprised when the evaluator found that I was performing above my current grade level, and once they’d found a homeschool teacher who was able to take me on and we were introduced, I begged her not to make me re-read _The Great Gatsby_. She laughed as she agreed to that. Her name was Mrs. Andrews, and she had taught in the public schools for a while before she was laid off due to lack of funding. It turned out that one-on-one education suited her a lot better, and I immediately liked her.

My days began to take on a routine, starting with Mrs. Andrews in the morning after breakfast. Mr. Castillo would drive me over to the library to meet with her, and I got three hours with her to start nailing down sophomore-level math and literature. (We’d be focusing on biology after a bit more time.) After that, either Yakov or Lilia would pick me up and drive me to wherever I was due next. My afternoons were filled with training and conditioning of some sort - Lilia got me two to three days a week, and I did a lot of cardio and weight training to start building up my endurance. Yakov had me skating four days a week to start, and I usually stayed at the rink for Mila’s ice time and tagged along with her when she went home for the day. We were both so tired after our busy days that we didn’t have much energy to do more than eat dinner and collapse on the couch and catch up on the shows we were following. I was slowly working my way through the backlog of _Battlestar Galactica_ , thanks to the DVD collections from the library, and Mila and Mr. Castillo would join in some nights. It was fun to be part of a viewing party.

Once every week, I went back to talk to the counselor about my adjustment to life in my foster home and all the other crap that came from living with my stepfamily like I did. It took some time, but eventually I was able to talk about the home visit and how scared I’d gotten, and then I started to admit that I still had moments where I got afraid that the Castillos were going to get rid of me, or that I’d screw something up and they’d start hating me, and so many other things. Things weren’t perfect - they were _better_ , which was important, but not perfect.

One night, Mrs. Castillo found me in the kitchen at eleven at night, scrubbing dishes because I was convinced that I had to do it or else I’d get in trouble. She’d had to physically take the plate out of my hand, and I’d started crying again for _no reason_ (“there’s always a reason, even if you don’t know it,” Roger interrupted me to say. “Don’t be afraid to cry, Victor.”) She’d hugged me for a long time before taking me back upstairs to bed, and left me with Queenie and Duchess to snuggle. She didn’t bring up the incident after that, as far as I knew, and I was grateful, but she started letting me help her in the kitchen more too. That actually made me feel better, weirdly.

So yeah, I definitely still needed counseling, and after a few weeks I stopped fighting it. It was only then that I started getting better.

On my free days, I would hang out with Georgi and Chris if they were available - some days I got to tag along to Chris’s photo shoots, and other days we got to hang out at the library or the mall or sometimes downtown Ann Arbor, just wandering the streets and exploring. We three texted each other constantly throughout the week and I even signed up for AIM so we could make a chatroom and goof off.

Yuuri tried to visit me as much as he could, but it was definitely his busy season right now. He’d managed to qualify for the Grand Prix Final, and was training harder than ever. Mila had qualified for the Grand Prix Final as well, so Mrs. Castillo and I went with her to Beijing - another first for me! I got to cheer them both on throughout the competition, and we got to explore the area we were staying in during the lulls between the events. Yuuri was super careful about what he ate, so we stayed away from hot pot restaurants and all that, but it was still fun to try actual Chinese food _in China_. Mrs. Castillo and Yuri Plisetsky came along as chaperones, and I got to witness Mila join the “Yurio” club when she decided she liked his nickname quite a bit. It looked like Plisetsky was trying not to lose his temper, and Mrs. Castillo had to talk him out of drowning his temper in beer.

By the end of the Grand Prix Final, Yuuri had won the silver medal. Mila hadn’t gotten on the podium, but she was even more determined to medal in the next year.

One weekend, before Christmas (and my birthday) and before Nationals, everyone from Perrault came out to Ann Arbor to ogle Christmas trees. When I saw Chris lock arms with Phichit and make goopy eyes at the senior, I lost my _mind_.

“How long?” I demanded, and everyone shrugged. “Was _anyone_ going to tell me? I’m out of the loop here!”

“We should make a newsletter,” Guang-hong mused.

“ _The Perrault Times Just For Victor_ ,” Yuuri said, putting his arm around my waist, and I quieted down.

“Why am I the only single one here?” Georgi complained, and then everyone tried to comfort him for a bit as we formed a big blob of people on the sidewalk.

While we were in Beijing, I got everyone little Christmas gifts - and Georgi an extra birthday gift, since his birthday was the day after mine - so I handed those out back at the Castillo house while we all warmed up with hot cocoa and winded down as we played with the dogs in the family room. Leo had borrowed his mom’s van to get everyone out to Ann Arbor, and everyone was on holiday break, so it was well past eight o’clock when everyone had to leave. Guang-hong jokingly tried to sneak Duchess out under his coat.

During winter break, I decided to go back to Perrault just to visit Georgi and Chris. Mrs. Castillo drove me out there and I spent the day at the Popovich house with my friends, just hanging out in the TV room and watching movies. We got into an impassioned discussion about the new _Phantom of the Opera_ movie that was coming out - or had it come out? I’d have to find out - and Georgi was horrified to realize that Chris and I were both very unimpressed by the previews for the movie. (We all really liked the stage show but… _Antonio Banderas_ had been in talks to star as Erik? Was Andrew Lloyd Webber _insane_?)

Later on the next day, Yuuri offered to take me to see _Phantom_ in the theaters, but I knew he was still running ragged. There were tons of movies that we wanted to watch once the skating season wound down a little, which was hopefully soon after Nationals at the end of the month. Instead, we just talked about other movies and TV shows, and somehow landed on cartoon physics in _Roger Rabbit_.

On Christmas Day, I woke up to the smell of something yummy cooking downstairs, and I headed downstairs to find Mr. Castillo at the counter with a gigantic waffle iron and a massive spread of food that was both healthy and kind of a treat.

Mila wandered in shortly after I did, yawning. “Where’s Mom?” she asked, eyeing the breakfast almost sadly. Since Nationals was later on in the week, Yakov was really riding her about her diet plan. I shot her a sympathetic look.

“Picking up something for the birthday boy,” Mr. Castillo answered, and winked at me.

“ _Oh my god that’s right!”_ Mila threw her arms around me and dragged me into the family room. “It’s your _birthday_ , you’re officially _old_ now!”

“I’m only fifteen,” I whined, and Mila giggled before _pinching_ me.

“Pinch to grow an inch!”

“Seriously?” I yelped, and all the dogs started barking.

“He’s going to be tall enough already,” Mr. Castillo called, snorting. Once I escaped Mila and got back to the kitchen, he handed me a plate. “Birthday boy goes first. Help yourself, but remember that you’re on a diet.”

“It’s my birthday,” I pointed out. “Do I not get to cheat today at _all_?”

“Well, Yakov might stop by, so you could try it.” Mr. Castillo grinned and I decided to stick with just one Belgian waffle instead of two.

By the time Mrs. Castillo pulled into the garage, Mila and I had settled into eating our breakfasts and were a bit confused as to where Mrs. Castillo had gone. “What could I possibly need today? Everything is closed,” I said as Mr. Castillo put the dogs outside.

“Hold that thought,” Mr. Castillo said. “Victor, you’ve got a special birthday gift coming and we’re going to need you to put your shoes and coat on.”

“What?” Mila and I both said at the same time.

Mr. Castillo smiled mysteriously. “Dress warm, you’re going outside. Quick, hurry!”

Mila stayed behind as I pulled on my new snow boots and winter coat, zipping it up over my pajamas, and then Mr. Castillo let me out into the garage. “Enjoy,” he added, still being vague.

I started getting scared, but then I heard Mrs. Castillo calling me out to the front of the house and decided to just… take a leap of faith, I guess.

I walked out of the open garage and looked for Mrs. Castillo, who was standing in the middle of the cul-de-sac, on the island portion. It looked like she had… a cage?

_What the heck?_

“Victor, come on over!” she called, waving. “You get first dibs!”

“On what?” I asked, more confused than afraid as I crossed the street.

Mrs. Castillo actually giggled and then reached down and unlatched the cage as I reached her. “Happy birthday, darling!” she said as she swung the cage door open and…

 _Oh my god_.

The tiniest little puppy peered out from the cage at me, still sitting on a pile of blankets inside. It blinked and whimpered a little at the cold.

“She’s all yours,” Mrs. Castillo added. “Since when Mila moves out, she’s taking Prince with her, we figured you deserved a dog all your own! She’s a purebred standard poodle, from the same breeder as the rest of our dogs!”

“Oh my god,” I said faintly as Mrs. Castillo leaned down to scoop up the puppy and pull her out. “Oh my god,” I said again as Mrs. Castillo placed the dog in my arms. “Oh my _god_.”

“Happy birthday,” Mrs. Castillo sang as the puppy sniffed my nose. “We’re going to have to wait for Paolo and Mila to wrangle the other dogs and bring them out here before we can take her into the house. This will help the other dogs get used to her being around.”

“Oh my god,” I said. The puppy curled up against my chest and I thought I was going to faint at how sweet and tiny she was.

Mila, when she emerged from the house also wearing her coat and boots, having leashed up Prince and Queenie, actually squealed when she saw the puppy in my arms. “ _I didn’t think you’d actually do it!_ ” she yelled as the dogs pawed at me, trying to sniff the puppy. “I was literally joking!”

“But it was a great idea!” Mrs. Castillo said, laughing.

“I mean, I’m not going to say no to another dog in the house, but… _oh my god_ ,” Mila said.

“I know, right?” I said.

Mr. Castillo joined us a moment later with Duke and Duchess leashed up, and they all got to sniff the new puppy and get used to her before we took everyone back into the house. I almost abandoned my breakfast to keep holding my new dog, and Mila offered to spoon-feed me before I finally put my puppy down and let her curl back up in her crate.

I texted Yuuri about it as soon as I could, and the first response back that I got from him was _OMG_. Same for Chris and Georgi. They all promised to come out as soon as possible to meet her. I decided to spend the rest of the day playing with the puppy and letting her get used to the house with me. Her crate was moved into my bedroom, and I took her outside on a leash so she knew where to go potty. The Castillos had already gotten her a little bowl for her food, and she’d already figured out where the communal water bowl was, so all that was needed was for me to feed her the special puppy kibble that we now had sitting in the pantry next to the other dogs’ food. It was literally the best birthday _ever_.

“What will you name her?” Mila asked as we watched _A Christmas Story_ on TV, the puppy asleep on my chest as I sat back on the couch.

“There was this old stuffed toy I had as a kid, I guess it was from Russia,” I said, petting the dog’s back. “My dad said it was called a Makkachin? Or something? I dunno, but I liked the name.”

“Makkachin?” Mila frowned. “I’ve never heard of that.”

“Well, it’s unique,” Mrs. Castillo said. “We’ll get her tags made for you.”

“This is the best present I’ve ever gotten,” I said, fighting down the lump in my throat again. “Thank you _so much_.”

She smiled and patted my arm, and the puppy yawned and settled against my chest again.

 

When my friends met my new dog, they all instantly fell in love with her too. Yuuri just lay down on the floor and let her crawl all over him. “I can die happy now,” he said. He’d just won Nationals and was being allowed a bit of a break before the Four Continents, and he seemed completely worn out.

“Don’t you dare,” I said, flopping down next to him and immediately getting mobbed by the other dogs. “You still haven’t watched _Labyrinth_ with me.”

“Right.”

(He fell in love with _Labyrinth_ too.)

 

Worlds that year was in Germany, and I wasn’t able to go in order to cheer on Mila and Yuuri. All I could do was send my best wishes and puppy kisses with them, which they both seemed to appreciate. Yakov and Lilia accompanied Mila, because her parents both had to work, and left me strict instructions to keep conditioning while they were away for the week. One of the other skating instructors at the Ice Cube volunteered to sub in for Yakov, and I stalked the message board on _HistoryMakers.net_ for score postings when the ladies’ and men’s singles days came and went. The time zone difference made things interesting, but I was still able to find out when Yuuri managed to swipe gold. Mila had managed to land herself in the top twenty, which was still a pretty impressive achievement for her first time competing internationally, and when everyone was home and the season was officially over, we threw a huge party for all the skaters that had competed. _Everyone_ came out to the Ice Cube, which we all pitched in to rent out, and for the first time, I got to see my foster parents trying to skate.

Now that the off-season was upon us, I finally got to meet the Katsuki family for real. Mari recognized me fine, but her and Yuuri’s parents had only really heard about me up until then. The first time we were all officially in the same room, Mrs. Katsuki invited me on the upcoming family vacation in the summer - they were renting a house on Mackinac Island, and they even would let me bring Makkachin along. The Castillos were all for it - it only took that one afternoon at the rink for all four of them, my foster parents and Yuuri’s parents, to click. Mrs. Castillo managed to get the Katsukis to do a little pairs skating for us, which was _awesome_. Ms. Okukawa turned out to be pretty okay on skates as well, and attempted a few jumps that ended with her on her backside. Phichit, Leo, and Guang-hong were there as well, and of course Georgi and Chris had been invited. I insisted that they put on rentals and try the ice out for themselves, and they did better than my foster parents had. Still, when I offered to teach them jumps, they both flatly refused. (“And ruin this moneymaker?” Chris had sniffed. “Absolutely not!”)

This was also the first time that Plisetsky and Yakov were encountering each other outside of competitions. It became very clear why. Plisetsky couldn’t seem to stop needling Yakov, whose temper I’d become a bit familiar with, and it was kind of hilarious to see how easily the younger coach could provoke my own coach into flipping his lid over the silliest things. Lilia just sipped her tea and ignored them both. “They actually do care about each other,” she told me. “But… _men_.”

Couple other notable things happened for the end-of-season party: Phichit announced that he’d finally managed to snag Celestino as his new coach (and there was much rejoicing) and then Nishigori _got down on one knee_ in front of Yuuko, and I thought Yuuri was going to faint when we saw. Yuuko had to get off the ice and freak out at the new bling on her finger, and she let us ooh and aah at it after she’d managed to compose herself.

Overall, it was a _good_ day.

 

Yuuri skipped his prom - Phichit and Leo did, too - and ended up spending the night over with me at the Castillos. We both fell asleep in a blanket fort on the family room floor, having finally gotten to watch the new _Phantom_ movie (and we both were underwhelmed by it.)

(To be fair, Georgi had been as well.)

(Gerard Butler couldn’t sing.)

(At all.)

We woke up the next day to find that Makkachin had wormed her way in between us, and she was getting bigger every week at this point. As I cooked breakfast, Yuuri teased me that both Makkachin and I were getting growth spurts - Mrs. Castillo came downstairs in time to voice her agreement, and reminded me that I’d outgrown most of the clothes that we’d bought just a few months before. I chose not to answer either of them in favor of not burning the eggs.

Once we finished breakfast, Mila came downstairs and we watched _Moulin Rouge_ to wash the taste of _Phantom_ out of our brains. And then we all cried at the ending. It was great.

 

The spring turned to summer, and Yuuri and the other seniors graduated from Tremaine High School. Yakov and Lilia began to plan for my first-ever competitive season in Juniors, and I managed to worm my way into those planning sessions. I _did_ , after all, choreograph the routine that caught Yakov’s eye. Yakov had a massive library of songs to choose from, and Lilia had even more music to add to that. We ended up picking two waltzes: _The Champagne Waltz_ and _Valentine’s Day Waltz_ , which I joked was actually about Chris’s birthday.

We spent all of June working on preparing for my official debut at Regionals; sometimes Yuuri would drop in to watch, sometimes Mila would stick around after her ice time, and sometimes both of them hung around as Yakov chased me around the rink. The longer I spent working under him, the more of his real personality started to shine through around me. I was starting to push the limits of my skating, and the day I asked him if I could try and attempt quads, I thought he was going to have a heart attack.

(So that was a ‘no’ then, I guess.)

For the Fourth of July, Makkachin and I got whisked away to Mackinac Island with the Katsuki family for a week of biking and beachtime. It was my first time ever visiting the island, and I’d had the fudge before, but having it fresh? _Even better_.

It was the perfect vacation: I went to tea at the Grand Hotel with Mari and Mrs. Katsuki one day - just one day, because I got a look at the prices and _holy crap_ \- and walked the labyrinth on the grounds. There were _no cars_ on the island, so we all either had to get a horse-drawn carriage or bike everywhere. It was so much physical activity that we could justify eating all the food that we ate. Makkachin was intimidated by all the horses, and I had to keep her on a leash while we were on the beach because she wasn’t quite solid with her come-back-commands.

It was during that trip to Mackinac that _it_ happened; we were on the beach, it was getting super dark out, and we were sitting next to the dying bonfire under the stars when Yuuri kissed me on the cheek, right out of nowhere.

I froze, and he froze, probably thinking he’d overstepped his boundaries.

“You missed, silly,” I said, and went in for a real kiss. It was like every daydream I’d ever had, except _warmer_ and _softer_ and so. So very good. I never wanted to kiss anyone else ever.

After we returned home from Mackinac, we couldn’t seem to stop kissing. Well, I mean, not literally, but we were at the _kissing_ stage now. Every time Yuuri pecked me on the lips, even casually, I felt like gravity had turned off. It was _fantastic_.

July bled into August, and my programs mostly solidified. Regionals this year was before the Autumn Open was set, but it was up in the air if that was even going to happen at this point. There were rumors swirling about Ice Castle being in financial trouble, and while it hurt to see my parents’ rink failing, I couldn’t bring myself to feel sorry for Dina. Mrs. Castillo - _Aria_ \- reported that she was making headway with the investigation into my stepmother, and I was pretty sure that Dina herself didn’t even have a clue. She was probably too busy dealing with her sudden rotten reputation in town, at least according to everyone I talked to in Perrault.

It was during that time that I asked my foster parents if we could somehow get my legal name changed. It took awhile, but before the summer ended, my name officially became Victor Nikiforov. As much as I loved and missed my dad, I couldn’t stand to share my last name with Dina and her sons.

Mid-August, we moved Yuuri into his dorm at U of M and then it was time for everyone to get into competition mode. I got fitted for costumes, and as a joke I tried to put on the one Georgi had made for me the previous year - obviously, I’d grown too tall for it anymore, but thanks to the intensive conditioning and the actual diet that I was now sticking to, I’d filled in as well. Both Chris and Georgi were smug about that, and Georgi had preened when everyone complimented his work on the outfit.

My new costumes were much more ornate, thanks to the fact that we’d had more time to prep them - Georgi had dissolved into gibbering when he saw the designs on me. The costume for my short program resembled a vintage military uniform fit for royalty, while the long program was a lovely white dress shirt under a sparkling gray waistcoat paired with black pants. Aria demanded thorough photographic records of my costumes alongside Mila’s and they started a new section of the Skating Wall for me. It was probably one of the best things to happen other than Yuuri kissing me.

The rest of August was spent preparing for Regionals, and helping Yuuri adjust to living on his own and training in a brand-new rink. I got to see a lot more of Yurio - and yeah, I joined the club on that - thanks to Yuuri coming to train at the Ice Cube with Mila and me. If skating had been great before, it was absolutely _perfect_ now, even if I still fell on my face sometimes.

September was interesting, since Yuuri had started up college by then. Sometimes, I would tag along with Mr. Castillo - Paolo - and meet up with Yuuri in the public spots around campus. I got to see what kind of schoolwork a college freshman had to tackle, and Yuuri got to cuddle me and groan into my stomach when he got frustrated. Phichit and Leo had gotten into Wayne State, so we’d alternate visiting on weekends when everyone was free. Celestino had officially left Perrault and headed up to Detroit in order to work with Phichit, and it sounded like that coaching arrangement was working out perfectly.

Still, when Regionals finally started creeping up and Yakov got me all set to compete for the first time in years, even though I’d spent almost an entire year preparing for this, I started feeling the pang of nerves once October finally hit.

“You’re going to be fine,” everyone kept telling me, but I couldn’t even put into words why I was freaking out.

Yuuri understood, though. On his days off, sometimes he’d hang with me at home in the basement (I wasn’t allowed to visit him in the dorms, and even I had to admit that was smart) and just hold me for a while, like he knew exactly how it felt with that low-grade buzz in my gut constantly humming and making me feel like I was going to faint or throw up.

“You’ll feel better once you get out onto the ice,” he promised, and I buried my face in his shoulder.

 

Final costume fittings went perfectly, and then all too soon it was time for us to throw our bags in the car for a five-hour drive down to Fort Wayne, Indiana. We left the dogs with a dogsitter and I settled in the backseat with a neck pillow and a borrowed iPod to try and get some rest as Mila and the Castillos alternated shifts in driving. Everyone else was driving, too - it was cheaper than a flight. I texted Yuuri a little on the way, wishing I could have squeezed in his car with him… but Yurio was driving, and Yuuri was reporting a lot of road rage. No thanks.

When we got to the hotel that everyone was staying at, a fancy Hilton with a breakfast bar and everything, I immediately set out to find Yuuri’s room and ended up laying on his bed while he and Yurio were unpacking. I thought it was funny that everyone was acting like we had a deadline when I was the one skating before everyone else had to - my age group was set to skate before the seniors had to compete. The only reason we were here early was to avoid shenanigans, as Aria was fond of saying.

I was less nervous about skating now - Yuuri had a point, it was _skating_ and skating was in my blood - but _now_ I was more wary of walking around the hotel alone; I was kind of scared of running into my stepfamily. As a result, I was accompanied by someone literally everywhere I went. I didn’t say so, but I was grateful for that. I decided to skip the open ice practice entirely, and Yakov didn’t fight me on it. That was nice of him.

All too soon, the novices and the intermediate and juvenile skaters had finished up their short programs, and Yakov was chasing Mila and me around, trying to get us ready to head over to the stadium. I think he was just as… not quite _nervous_ , but he probably had the same buzzing feeling I did. I envied Lilia, who was completely composed with not even a hair out of place.

Getting checked in and prepping for the warm-up all happened in one big blur, all I knew was that Yakov was taking care of me. I was okay with going on autopilot and letting him do the fine-tuning, but I was lacing up in the waiting area when I _felt_ it.

I turned around, and there were my step-brothers with their new coach, a man I didn’t recognize at all but immediately pitied. He had the same worn-down look that Celestino had, and he’d only been working with Winston and Rupert for a few months. Poor guy.

I swallowed and went back to lacing up. They hadn’t noticed me yet.

Yakov was talking to me quietly, but he followed my line of sight and fell silent. “Those two are _them_ , aren’t they?”

I nodded.

“Ignore them,” Yakov ordered. “It will do you no good to pay them any mind.”

He had a point.

I knew that I definitely looked different from this time last year. I’d caught up with Rupert in height, I’d filled out thanks to my diet, and I’d been growing my hair out of the awful haircut that I’d had for years now. I knew I no longer resembled the scrawny step-brother they’d probably think of if someone said my name, and I was definitely a lot more cheerful and confident than before. (And modest, too!)

Still.

There were two groups of Junior Men, and for the moment we were all in alphabetical order. Once again, I’d be skating after them in the lineup, all three of us in the second group. That was fine.

Right before Yakov made me put my phone away, Yuuri sent a little good luck message. He and Mila were in the audience with my foster parents, cheering me on. Privately, I wished I could have somehow brought Chris and Georgi along with as well, but they had school and their own lives to live. They’d also texted me good luck, which would have to be enough. I just kept breathing.

We got to watch the broadcast of the first group of skaters as they went, and there were quite a few impressive programs in the mix, performed to varying levels of success. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Winston’s head kept jerking in my direction, and I made sure to stay as far away from both of them as possible. Yakov noticed this and blocked me from their sight. Thank _God_.

Once the first group was done, it was time to line up for our practice before the short program. I was right behind Winston, and so when he turned around to really get a good look at me, I couldn’t do anything about it.

“ _Loser?!_ ” he demanded, like he’d seen a ghost.

I felt a flush of hot anger at that hated nickname. “Focus on not tripping right out the gate,” I said, glaring at him.

Winston’s mouth dropped open, and the official dude nearby snapped him to attention once he missed his cue to get on the ice. I had to laugh when he literally missed a step, caught his toe pick, and fell on his face. Everyone in the stands oohed in pain.

“Dear God,” Yakov said to my side. I shrugged in agreement.

Rupert did a double-take when he heard my name announced over the loudspeakers, but he didn’t trip up. Instead, once he’d gotten over his shock, he glared daggers at me. Nice to see things hadn’t changed much in the year that I’d been gone.

I was careful to avoid both of them during the warm-up, but once that was done with, we were all herded into the same waiting area all the same. Yakov stuck to my side like a burr, constantly talking and drawing my attention away from my step-brothers scowling at me. Lilia showed up as well, having taken her time getting over to the arena. They held a terse conversation in Russian that I could only catch about half of, but Yakov was pretty annoyed from what I understood.

I wished I could text with Yuuri, but my phone was locked up with my street shoes. I refocused on the ice, the skater ahead of myself and my step-brothers still out there. He took center ice, and then his music started up and he began to skate his program.

I didn’t recognize the song he was using, but Lilia leaned forward to study him, her face expressionless. I kind of knew that look - she was analyzing the hell out of him. I wondered if he could feel it, all the way out there.

“He has a strong technique, but he is like Yura,” she said, and Yakov sniffed. “No emotional connection,” she added. I just nodded along with her.

Indeed, he was scored pretty low in his presentation, but his technical score was decently high. The guy had to be close to nineteen, making him a bit of a holdout in Juniors. I wasn’t going to knock him on that - Yakov was already saying I would probably take a while to transition to Seniors and that was fine by me.

Then it was Rupert’s turn to skate, and now Yakov was paying attention. There was a long moment of anticipation, but then we all kind of… _reacted_. Because the music started up, and it was freaking _Phantom Of The Opera_.

Lilia made a very unladylike noise, Yakov just kind of stared, and I had to shove a fist in my mouth to keep from laughing. _Of course_ Rupert would pick that song. Of course.

“He… he has some strength,” Lilia said after a while, once we’d gotten over the initial shock at the choice of music. “The interpretation is… appropriate for the material.”

“Have you seen the musical?” I asked.

Yakov shuddered as Lilia nodded. “I was not impressed,” she said. She clearly still was not.

Rupert still didn’t have any quads in his arsenal, which was comforting, but he was definitely nailing all his triples and at one point put an arm up over his head.

Oh _crap_.

He was clearly positioning himself as the Phantom in this story, and he was a Phantom that knew damn well how far beyond everyone else’s league he was. I mean, I never thought of the Phantom as being a character that was this smug and self-confident, as opposed to being full of himself due to a lack of empathy for other people… you know what? Now that I thought of it, the music choice worked perfectly for Rupert. Good for him. At least his costume wasn’t _buckles_ this time around. (It was definitely based off of the Phantom’s first outfit seen in the movie. I would never be able to watch that movie ever again without thinking of this.)

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the scoreboard as Rupert skated to the Kiss and Cry, and the buzzing in my stomach was back.

His score was uncomfortably high. I felt cold all over as I caught sight of his self-satisfied face, and for one moment his eyes met mine. He sneered, and I knew exactly what he was thinking.

Winston took center ice, this time not tripping over his own toe pick, and I realized that both of them had picked songs from _Phantom Of The Opera_ for their programs. “Oh, god,” I said.

Yakov frowned. “What?”

Lilia groaned when the song from the Masquerade scene started playing, and Winston tried to vogue again. I guess he thought he could make it his signature thing.

I didn’t recognize the outfit he was wearing as one of the ones specifically worn in the movie, but he wouldn’t have looked weird in the actual scene.

The excerpt of the song was from when the music got weird and trippy, and Winston tried hard to match the mood, but he was concentrating too hard on not falling over and eating ice to put much thought into his performance. And still, _still_ , he fell on at least two jumps, stepped out of spins, and at one point literally lost his footing so badly that he fell right onto his butt.

I guess not even a new coach could fix that.

Winston’s technical scores were higher than usual, but not quite high enough that he’d be in the second group come the long program. His interpretation score was low, which also made sense. He looked sour as he and his coach cleared out of the Kiss and Cry, and then I was stepping out onto the ice and… oh my _god_.

 _It’s in my blood_ , I reminded myself as Yakov went over last minute coaching stuff and Lilia gave me a few tips on how to wow the judges, and then I was pushing off the boards to take center ice.

I heard a lot of yelling and a few people cheering my name, and that actually made me feel better. Yuuri was out there. My foster family was out there. I was going to be fine.

My waltz started, and I easily found the rhythm. One thing that my programs were centered around - or, at least, my short - was the step sequences. I’d taken a lot of inspiration from Yuuri’s, and Lilia’s ballet lessons had definitely helped with that as well. The waltz was light and airy, and it felt like the music had a bit of a swing to it. It was bubbly and sweet, like how I imagined actual champagne tasted. I thought of the waltzes that I’d studied for the program, and how smooth the dancers’ movements had to be in order to get that effortless glide.

Fizzy, and smooth. _Like champagne_ , I repeated to myself as I went into the jumps. If there was one thing Yakov had been careful to do, it was to break me of all my bad habits when it came to my jumps. I wasn’t landing every single jump perfectly cleanly, but I was cleaner and my technique was tighter than before. I’d actually had to unlearn a few things that I’d picked up from watching Rupert, which I was all too happy to do.

The music slowed down for its big ending, and I matched my tempo as I prepared for my big finale, striking a triumphant pose right as the music came to an end. If there was anything that I was good at, it was ending on the beat.

The applause startled me, and the people throwing flowers onto the ice did too. Had I really impressed that many people? I scooped up a few individually-wrapped ones as I took my bows and carefully made my way over to the Kiss and Cry, where Lilia and Yakov were waiting.

“You need to clean up your toe loop,” Yakov said immediately as he handed me my skate guards and let me lean on him to put them on. “The takeoff needs work. And I want to focus on those transitions.”

“You seemed unmoored,” Lilia added, her eyebrows raised. “Were you trying to be a bubble again? That is not what you should be envisioning.”

I pouted. “The audience seemed to like it.”

“The audience isn’t scoring you,” Lilia countered, and _okay_ , she had a point.

We took our seats, and I played with the flowers I’d picked up as we waited for my scores to come out.

 _Oh thank goodness_ , the technical score was right were we’d planned for it to be. There had probably been a few downgrades due to the toe loop that Yakov was worried about, and we’d have to watch recordings of the program later to see for sure, but overall the technical was promisingly high. The interpretation score was not as high as I would have liked it to be - I guess Lilia had another point about the bubble thing - but it was definitely enough to keep me in the running for the podium. In fact… now that I thought of it, my overall score was right around Rupert’s.

_Crap._

This was supposed to be my moment of truth, and I couldn’t even overtake Rupert in the _short_?

Yakov frowned at me, as if he could tell what I was thinking. “We rest tonight, and then we prepare for the long program,” he said, chivvying me to my feet. “That’s where all the points are.”

I nodded, and let him shepherd me off into the back again as the zamboni came out onto the ice so the Junior Ladies would have a clean surface to skate on next.

 

Yuuri and Mila wouldn’t be doing their short programs until the next day, so as soon as we got back to the hotel and I was showered, I trooped back up to Yuuri and Yurio’s room and flopped on Yuuri’s bed again.

“Don’t you have your own place to sleep?” Yurio grumbled from the desk.

Yuuri just sat next to me and let me bury my face in his chest. “You did great today,” he said softly. “Strong debut. Yurio was impressed.”

“Stop telling lies, Katsudon.”

“I couldn’t even beat _Rupert_ at the short,” I whined. “ _Rupert_ , the sexy belt tango guy!”

Yuuri shuddered, but played with my damp hair. “The long program is your chance,” he said, echoing Yakov from earlier. “You’ll be fine.”

I groaned.

We were allowed a little cuddle time until Mila was sent to fetch me, and then I left them so we all could rest up for the next day.

 

_ <Georgi> still that scores a good 1 rite? _

_ <me> yea but i want it 2 b higher _

_ <Georgi> just sk8 ur bst 2moro nd go 2 sectionals _

_ <Georgi> u got this _

_ <me> bleh _

_ <Georgi> listn i dont kno the 1st thing abt sk8ing but i kno u _

_ <Georgi> ur ment 4 more than this just wait n c _

_ <me> ur bein super positive rit now _

_ <me> who r u nd wheres georgi _

_ <Georgi> shutup ur livin an actual fairytale just wait _

 

_ <Chris> i mean thing1 n thing2 will probly peak here rite _

_ <me> maybe _

_ <Chris> chin up u nerd _

_ <me> i rly wnt this _

_ <Chris> i wnt u 2 beat them 2 _

_ <Chris> but maybe that isnt enuf _

_ <me> georgi is saying do ur bst n stuff _

_ <Chris> yea maybe beating them isnt enuf inspiration _

_ <me> so jst sk8 my best _

_ <Chris> that n maybe psych them out :) _

_ <me> ok rite. goodnite _

 

The next day, I was almost too nervous to even eat. Yakov convinced me to have at least some toast at first, and then talked me into eggs for protein, and then it was time for me to start getting ready. My age group was set to perform first, for some reason. It would either be a triumphant tone-setter… or like ripping off a band-aid.

Mila and Yuuri both had to prep for their own skates, but they both promised to be back in time to see my long program. I didn’t even get to see Yuuri before he rushed off to open ice practice, and Yakov whisked Mila off after him; plus, Chris and Georgi were both in school, so I started warming up in the hotel room. Aria started singing my long program song, and while I was stretching out, she and Paolo began to waltz around the bed. It was a cute distraction.

Lilia came to fetch me and it was go time, _oh my god_. I’d never skated a long program like this in competition before. This was insane. How was this my _life_?

Once at the arena, Lilia set to work on last minute prep, carefully fixing my hair and straightening my costume. She had to rebutton the waistcoat, which I’d messed up, and tutted over me as she tugged and adjusted the shirt underneath. “Don’t be nervous,” she said, tilting my chin up so I was looking her in the eye. “It’s a useless waste of energy.”

“I can’t really help a few nerves,” I said.

“You can’t afford nerves,” she replied. “If you don’t make bronze here, you won’t be going to Sectionals.”

She had a point. _Crap_.

“You are a Nikiforov,” she added, tugging my collar into place. “Your mother was a champion. You got yourself here through sheer determination and hard work. Remember that.”

I nodded and focused on breathing normally. I wasn’t prone to hyperventilation, but it felt like I could start. Lilia nodded approvingly as I started doing what I called Yoga Breathing, and she let me be.

Winston had ended up in the first group to go, but Rupert was in the second group with me two other guys. One of the other guys was the dude who’d gone before us yesterday, and the other was a skater from Chicago.

Lilia sat with me as I stretched again, her presence silently warding off anyone who got any ideas to bother me (Rupert), but the other two skaters in the group wandered over. They seemed a bit star-struck.

“You’re Victor Nikiforov,” the Chicago skater asked, eyes wide. “Are you actually Nina Nikiforova’s kid?”

I nodded, and the other two skaters made impressed noises.

“They call you the Cinderella Boy, did you know that?” the older guy said. “Everyone’s talking about it, how your stepmother made you her slave and kept you from skating.”

“Everyone?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. I’d seen mention of it on the message board, but nowhere else. Then again, I was pretty busy.

“Well, I mean, someone ran a newspaper article about you in the AP,” the older guy said. “You didn’t see it?”

I shook my head.

“If you pull off a triumphant comeback, you’ll be famous,” the Chicago skater said.

Lilia frowned and cleared her throat. “That’s quite enough,” she said. “You both should be warming up.”

They fled, and I started going through my step sequences, just to have something to concentrate on. _Cinderella Boy, huh?_ I mean… they had a point.

That could be an idea, actually. _Cenerentola_ had an opera, right? Or a ballet? Maybe that could be a theme for my next season…

Someone cleared their throat, and I looked up to see that Rupert had decided to grace us with his presence after all. Lilia was glaring at him, her expression colder than the ice we were all going to skate on in a bit.

“You aren’t good enough to be here,” my step-brother said, ignoring Lilia. “Just letting you know so you can get your disappointment out now.”

“I really don’t care what you think,” I said, because I _didn’t_. I cared what the audience thought, and the judges.

“You’ll always be a loser,” Rupert said, crossing his arms. “A pathetic, stupid, useless--”

“Young man,” Lilia said, standing. “I suggest you walk away right now or I will have you removed.”

“He’s a piece of shit,” Rupert said, pointing at me. “He stole from us, from _me_. He leeched off my family for years. Everyone’s talking about how you’re the Cinderella Boy, but you’re actually _shit_. Cinderella had class, you’re just a pathetic faker in over your head.”

“You’re one to talk,” I said coldly. “I never stole from you, and I wouldn’t _want_ to steal from you, you classless hack. I don’t have to put up with you anymore, so go away.”

“Maybe I should wipe that smile off that that stupid face of yours,” Rupert said, and that was when Yakov appeared, his face like a thundercloud.

“You touch a hair on my skater’s head and I will destroy your career,” Yakov growled, drawing me away from my step-brother. “I have more pull in this field then you ever will, boy.”

“Break both your legs, _Loser_ ,” Rupert spat, stalking back over to his coach.

I realized my heart was racing. “I think I hate him,” I said, feeling a bit numb.

Lilia squeezed my shoulder. “He’s not even worth your hatred.” They both drew me away from the other skaters and distracted me for the rest of the first group’s ice time.

Winston barely managed to perform his long program to a degree that he didn’t place dead last, but his score didn’t even break the minimum for a pewter medal. That was one step-brother down. I watched him skate on the TV in the room, out of the corner of my eye.

The first group finished up, and it was like another blur as Yakov and Lilia escorted me rinkside. I was half afraid Rupert really would try to hurt me, but I guess he wasn’t willing to get disqualified. _He could easily make it look like an accident_ , I reminded myself as I skated carefully through the warm-up, almost hyper-aware of where my step-brother was. He drew uncomfortably close a few times, and I came to a stop by Yakov.

“He’s trying to psych me out,” I said.

“That’s because he fears you,” Yakov said, narrowing his eyes. “You’re a worthy opponent and he knows you can beat him. He’s trying to get you to defeat yourself so he doesn’t have to.”

“I really _do_ hate him,” I said.

Yakov sighed, but he looked me in the eye. “Anger is an energy, but hatred is too heavy for you to use in this program. Vitya, think about it. You aren’t going to beat your step-brother by focusing on beating him.”

“What am I supposed to focus on?” I demanded.

Lilia coughed and nodded towards the audience. “Make them fall in love with you. The waltz is a romantic one.”

“Not even the entire audience,” Yakov said. “You started skating again because you wanted to send a message to your secret admirer. He’s here, in the stands. Isn’t that enough?”

 _Yuuri_.

Suddenly, I understood. “Oh.”

“Now he gets it,” Yakov muttered, and then the announcer gave the warning for one minute remaining. “Let me see that toe loop before you come off the ice, Vitya.”

Landing that toe loop cleanly and hearing applause from the crowd was a nice mood-booster. I got off the ice feeling a bit better than before as the Chicago skater took center ice.

I was watching the Chicago guy’s performance when I heard a voice that I’d been hoping to avoid hearing for a long while: “I can’t _believe_ this.”

Yakov felt me tense up, and he looked over his shoulder at my stepmother, who’d somehow managed to worm her way into the skaters’ area. “I will have you removed,” he said. “Don’t even think of trying anything.”

“I’m not here for him,” Dina said flatly. “I’m here for my _son_.” She put her hand on Rupert’s shoulder for emphasis. “Remember,” she said, leaning in towards him. “Everyone else wishes they were you.”

Lilia grumbled something rude in Russian, and I forced myself to look back at the TV.

“And remember, _he_ has to follow _you_ ,” Dina was saying, and I was suddenly furious again.

“Focus on the love story,” Yakov murmured to me. “I can’t believe I’m telling a teenager to think about romance instead of competing, but I mean it. Do _not_ think about them.”

“You are better than him,” Lilia said.

I closed my eyes. “I…”

“You are _better_ than him,” Lilia repeated, daring me to argue.

I closed my mouth and nodded.

The other skater besides Rupert and me was already rinkside as the Chicago guy finished his program and headed to the Kiss and Cry for his scores. I refused to look at my stepfamily as the Chicago guy’s scores were announced. Yakov made an odd noise when he looked at the total score, but it wasn’t a concerned noise.

The older skater on the ice had picked a classical piece that sounded Baroque, which happened to be one of my favorite eras of music, and while he clearly had a strong technical backing, he definitely seemed heavier on the ice than the music would have called for otherwise. I reflected on my opposite extreme, of the bubbles in the champagne, and hoped I’d be able to find a happy medium when it was my turn.

Rupert tossed a parting shot over his shoulder as he left with his mother hand coach to get on the ice for his long program, and once the room was mostly empty, Lilia hissed something _very_ rude in French.

“I don’t know what you said,” Yakov said, “but I am in complete agreement.”

“I only caught half of it but I want to wash my own mouth out with soap just hearing it,” I said.

Lilia snorted. “You lived for that long with _those_ trashy people. I can’t believe it.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Me neither.” I glanced at her. “I was thinking of joining the army to get out of that house.”

Lilia shuddered. “I’m very glad you did not. You would not have lasted long in any part of the military.”

I felt like I should have been insulted, but… _true_. And they wouldn’t have let me have a boyfriend, either. Nope, I was fine where I was at.

Rupert had taken the ice and shed his jacket, giving me a good first look at his costume. It was… eerily similar to the one I’d worn for that fateful Autumn Open, only the top was white and the fit of it was looser, more like the covers of those trashy romance novels that Dina read. He… he was trying to look like Raoul from _Phantom_? Maybe? I mean, he’d styled his hair similarly.

“Geez,” I said.

An orchestral arrangement of _Music Of The Night_ began to play, and I privately felt relief that I wouldn’t have to listen to Gerard Butler’s awful vocals. Rupert’s performance was already dripping with fake sweetness, the kind of sugar substitute that left a gross aftertaste on your tongue once you’d tasted it. It was irritating to watch, if he actually flirted like that then you’d be able to tell he wasn’t being genuine at all.

“I truly dislike this musical,” Lilia said flatly, and then it was time for me to go rinkside.

I handed Yakov my jacket and checked my costume one last time before looking back up.

Rupert was in the middle of a jump combination, and I heard Lilia’s sharp intake of breath next to me as he finished it off. “That was… distressing,” she said.

Rupert kept piling on the jumps, but he was starting to get sloppy. I wondered if that had been planned, or if he’d just decided to do it in order to put me in my place. Either way, I was going to have to really pull out all the stops once it was my turn.

And then--

Rupert looked like he was setting up for another jump combination, but I could see the moment he decided to overshoot it. He tried for a quad loop, but under-rotated badly and wasn’t prepared to catch himself in time. He went sprawling for the first time in years, but quickly picked himself back up and moved on.

“I _really_ hate him,” I said under my breath.

“Idiotic child,” Yakov said. “If he wasn’t prepared to land a quad, he should have downgraded it. That stunt will hurt his score.”

“Doesn’t matter to him,” I said. “The fact that he tried it is enough. He’s been wanting to do quads forever.”

He was compensating with more jumps, which was _stupid_ \- why not focus on other elements? Only now did I realize how unevenly he weighed his programs, putting emphasis on jumps and bare minimum focus on the other elements. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

The song came to an end, and I felt cold all over as I handed my skate guards to Yakov and stepped onto the ice.

“Remember,” Lilia said. “This is a song about _love_ , not about desire or possession. It’s a dance.”

I nodded.

“Stick to the choreography,” Yakov said. “We planned this out for your strengths, Vitya. Have faith in yourself and this program.”

I nodded again.

“Don’t be a bubble,” Lilia said, and then the announcer was saying my name and I skated out to center ice, my arms raised to acknowledge the cheers from the audience.

 _Yuuri_ was out there. So was my foster family, and so many other people who believed in me. But most importantly, _Yuuri_ was out there.

 _I’m the Cinderella Boy_ , I reminded myself, tilting my head back and closing my eyes. _I’m the Cinderella Boy and I’m going to dance with my prince at the ball._

The waltz began to play, starting soft and sweet, and I began to skate.

I remembered the way David Bowie had danced with Jennifer Connelly in _Labyrinth_ , or how Sleeping Beauty had danced with Prince Phillip. That was a proper waltz, there. Worthy of the Cinderella Boy.

Yuuri would make a great dance partner. I went into my first step sequence imagining it: maybe he’d even _dip_ me, just like a fairy tale prince.

First jump was a combination triple-toe-double-lutz, and then the Half-Biellmann.

I hoped Yuuri could tell how much he’d inspired me as I swept by the judges’ table. His Ina Bauer was always so graceful… I went into my death drop as the music swelled up and then did a fake fade-out, setting me up for my next jumps.

Cinderella always had to arrive fashionably late to the party, so it wasn’t so bad that I was the last skater in my group. It was better to arrive on your own and stand out, instead of being crowded in with your rivals for the Prince’s eye.

And I had his eye, I knew I did. How could I not? I was the most intriguing courtier at the ball, the one who had arrived in a pumpkin carriage with my rags transformed into a sparking gown by my fairy godmother, and no one knew who I was…

But my stepsisters were determined to win the Prince for themselves, and they were putting up a real fight. I had to prove myself.

I was starting to get fatigued as I crossed into the final segment of the waltz, and I resolved to thank Lilia for all the cardio conditioning she’d put me through in her dance lessons. There was _no_ way I could have gotten this far in the long program if I’d gone into this a year ago.

I’d been so engrossed in my fairy tale narrative that I’d completely forgotten how angry my stepmother had made me, but now Cinderella had to face her own stepfamily, determined to lock her in the attic and keep her from trying on the slipper.

_Your Grace! May I try it on?_

I went for it. Yakov could yell at me later, but _damn it_ I wanted to win out over Rupert. I set up for my Sal and pushed myself harder than I’d ever pushed myself, launching myself higher in the air than a triple would have required, and tightening my core for a tighter spin.

I landed and wobbled a bit, having to put a hand down to catch myself, but it was a split second, and I hadn’t fallen over. I’d landed a quad.

Beat that, Rupert.

The music hit its triumphant crescendo, and then I was gliding into my ending pose, and it was over. I gave a deep bow to my imaginary Prince, but I didn’t need him anymore. The real thing was _so much better_.

The sight of stuffed animals and flowers raining down from all over the rink was probably the best part of my day so far. I scooped up a bouquet of _blue roses_ (how cool is that?) as I made my way to the boards.

Yakov and Lilia were both wearing similar expressions of exasperation when I got to the Kiss and Cry, and I couldn’t help but laugh at them. “You act like I screwed up,” I said as I took my skate guards from Yakov. “At least I landed it.”

“You would have been fine if you hadn’t done it,” Yakov said, breathing through his nose.

“But I needed to,” I said. I couldn’t explain why, but I _did_.

“What’s done is done,” Lilia said. “You’ve showed off, are you satisfied?”

I looked down at my bouquet. “I… yeah. Actually, I am.” I smiled.

Yakov groaned, but I saw Lilia’s lips give the slightest twitch.

I settled between them as the judges did their judging, and Yakov started a running commentary of all the elements we’d need to work on once we got back to Ann Arbor. It was only my first competition _ever_ , so I knew I’d be okay.

Lilia was quiet, but when Yakov took the chance to catch up on his breathing, she gave me a sideways glance. “Not a bubble this time?”

I shook my head, grinning. “Just Cinderella at her ball!”

Yakov choked on something, probably air or something, as Lilia pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re going to let that nickname go to your head,” she said.

“Probably!” I said cheerfully.

“ _The scores, please,_ ” the announcer said over the loudspeakers, and everyone fell quiet as my scores flashed up on the overhead display.

It was like being sucker-punched in the gut, only with _utter euphoria_. My mouth dropped open at my technical score, but the interpretation was what put my total over my _wildest expectations_. There was no doubt I’d get on the podium--

And I _was_ , oh my god. Oh my _god_. I’d overtaken the Chicago guy and come in right under the oldest skater, and I was _solidly silver_. Rupert had been booted down to pewter, and _I’d gotten on the podium._

“Well,” Lilia said as Yakov let out a triumphant bellow. “I guess that quad Sal was worth it after all.”

I didn’t answer, too afraid that I’d just start screaming in joy and not be able to stop.

 

“ _Victor!_ ”

I was still reeling in the waiting area as Mila burst into the room, almost bowling me over in her excitement. “Victor, _Victor_ , you got silver!”

I just squealed as she half-spun me around.

“Mila! Be careful, the medal ceremony is in a few minutes!” Yakov barked as he and Lilia ducked into the hallway for something.

“I’m _so PROUD of you_!” Mila yelled.

“I can’t breathe--”

“I don’t blame you!”

“He needs air,” said the Chicago guy, staring at Mila like she was the first girl he’d ever seen.

Mila let me go and I gasped, clinging to her jacket. “I got _silver_ ,” I said hoarsely.

“You got _silver_ ,” Mila agreed, practically vibrating.

“Vitya!”

And there was my Prince, his face flushed with excitement. Mila let me go so I could launch myself at Yuuri, and he caught me easily.

“You were _amazing_ ,” he said in my ear as he hugged me close. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Everyone’s saying that,” I said, a little weepy.

“Well, it’s true.” He kissed me on the forehead, and I preened. “My Vitya is so talented.”

“ _What the hell_.”

We drew apart to blink at Rupert, who was staring at us in abject shock and utter _fury_. His face was actually redder than I’d ever seen it before.

“What the hell,” he repeated, looking from Yuuri’s face to mine and back again. “What the _hell_?!”

“I think you broke him,” Mila said.

“Good,” I said, hugging Yuuri closer.

“ _No_ ,” Rupert suddenly spat, taking a step closer to us, and Yuuri immediately swiveled to block me from him. “No,” Rupert said, his face twisting into an ugly expression. “This is _not_ fair. This is _not_ what you get!”

“Cry harder,” I said. I was a _silver_ _medalist_ and he wasn’t even going to Sectionals. He couldn’t bring me down.

“I want to have a word with those judges,” Dina said from behind Rupert. She and Winston were both glaring at me as well. “There’s no way you didn’t cheat, you little brat.”

“Are you jealous?” I challenged her, straightening to my full height. I was officially taller than Dina now, even with her heels. Her eyes widened as I gently pulled away from Yuuri and crossed my arms. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely _not_ ,” Dina snapped, her eyes flashing. “Why would I be jealous of an ungrateful brat who _stole from me_ and worked to _undermine the rest of this family?_ ”

“Please,” I said, snorting. “I didn’t have to do a thing to undermine your family. You did that all on your own.”

“Nobody likes you,” Mila sang, coming to stand beside me. Yuuri moved to take my other side, raising his chin and daring her to pick a fight with him, the two-time World Champion.

“What is this?” Yakov demanded as he rejoined us, Lilia at his back. Her entire face smoothed out into the most terrifying expression I’d ever seen on her face, while Yakov’s thick eyebrows drew together and his nostrils flared.

Dina’s mouth flapped open and closed, but no words managed to come out. She looked at all the people backing me and fizzled out.

I’d had an epiphany, though. “You could have had this,” I said, and I didn’t have any energy for sympathy for her. “You could have had a medalist in the family, you could have been the one with me in the Kiss and Cry, you could have had this a _long_ time ago if you’d treated me like a member of your actual family, you bitch.”

Dina went scarlet, and Lilia made a peeved noise at the cuss, but no one contradicted me.

“You treated me like shit for _years_ ,” I went on, and I felt Yuuri’s arm weaving through mine - I didn’t know if it was his show of support or an attempt to rein me in. “You treated me like an indentured servant, you made me quit skating, you threatened me every time I did something you didn’t like. This is what you get for that. You’re _nothing_ to me, now. And I’m pretty sure you’re about to get sued, or something. Have fun with that, I don’t care what happens to any of you anymore.”

“Hear hear,” Mila said.

“Vitya,” Yakov said, and I looked over at him.

“I’m done,” I reassured him, and then the USFSA worker came back in to call us to the rink again. Yakov and Lilia shoved past my stepfamily, and shepherded me back out to the ice for the medal ceremony.

 

Fifteen minutes later, as I bowed my head down to let the official slip the silver medal over my head and accepted my bouquet, I could see my foster family at the front of the seating area. Yakov and Lilia were standing proudly at the boards, and next to them, Yuuri grinned at me across the ice.

 _Yeah,_ I thought to myself. Georgi was right. I really was living in a fairy tale.

And I was going to enjoy every second of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The Champagne Waltz_ is based off [the one from the 2015 _Cinderella_ film.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y8GhLzlf-Ws) _Valentine's Day Waltz_ is based off [_La Valse de L'Amour_ from the same film.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TgCwTGz4bAM) Both are credited to Patrick Doyle.
> 
> Rupert's SP: _The Phantom of the Opera_ (instrumental arrangement)
> 
> Winston's SP: _Masquerade_ (instrumental arrangement)
> 
> Rupert's FS: _The Music of the Night_ (instrumental arrangement)
> 
> all taken from Andrew Lloyd Webber's _Phantom of the Opera_ musical.


	8. Epilogue

** CINDERELLA BOY: THE FAIRY TALE, TWO YEARS LATER **

By Samantha Ames

_Victor Nikiforov is a remarkable skater with a remarkable story. Fresh off his first Junior Grand Prix Final and a gold at the World Championships, he has announced his intentions to proceed into the Senior division and compete on a whole new level with fellow skaters who used to be his idols and inspirations._

_Over the past couple of years, he has gone from virtual unknown to Olympic contender thanks to a supportive adoptive family, a dedicated coach, a very special someone, and an engaged online fanbase rallying to support him wherever he goes. On the ice, he’s a real-life fairy tale prince. Off-ice, in his home, surrounded by enthusiastic dogs, he’s a regular teenager ready to take on the world. His story is something out of a Young Adult novel._

_USA TODAY sat down with Victor - affectionately known as “Vitya” by his fans - to ask him all about it. We were seated in the family room of the Castillo house, and immediately were beset by the five dogs, one of whom is Victor’s personal pet. Victor’s adoptive parents had to intervene and take them outside, and Victor introduced his poodle, who was allowed to stay with us._

_USA TODAY: Who is this pup?_

_Victor Nikiforov: This is my baby Makkachin. When I move out, she’s coming with me. I got her for my fifteenth birthday, and she’s been with me ever since._

_USA: She’s lovely._

_VN: I love her very much._

_USA: Was she a gift from your adoptive parents?_

_VN: Yes. They brought her home for my very first Christmas with them. This was before they even adopted me, too. I guess they were trying to prove to me that I was staying around. They adopted me for the next Christmas, right before my first Nationals._

_USA: You seem very content today._

_VN: Very much so._

_USA: And how do you feel about your most recent Nationals?_

_VN: Oh, I’m very happy. I’d have to be a real ingrate to not be proud of my first National gold._

_USA: Were you waiting to win gold before moving up to Seniors?_

_VN: Well, not really. I’m turning eighteen this year and both Yakov [Feltsman] and I feel like I’m ready to compete at the Senior level._

_[Editor’s note: Feltsman coaches Victor, along with Victor’s adoptive sister Mila Babicheva, and also coached Victor’s biological mother, former Russian champion Nina Nikiforova.]_

_USA: Do you have any ideas for your programs this season?_

_VN: Yes, we actually are already working on them. I can’t wait to debut them in September at the [Autumn Classic International]. One of the songs is very dear to my adoptive parents, and I’ve come to really love it over the past few years._

_USA: Are you at all nervous about competing with older skaters?_

_VN: Not at all. I’ve known quite a few of the Seniors for a while, and I stopped being intimidated by most of them during my first year competing._

_USA: Especially--_

_VN: I know you’re wanting to ask me about one in particular._

_USA: How would you describe your relationship with Yuuri Katsuki?_

_VN: Absolutely perfect. We’ve been dating for almost three years now. I was able to go with him and cheer him and Mila on at the Olympics, and it was one of the best trips I’ve ever taken._

_USA: But you didn’t feel ready to enter the Seniors field and join in yourself?_

_VN: I hadn’t felt ready this time last year, but that just means I’m going to have time to work extra-hard preparing for Vancouver._

_USA: So you have a four-year plan?_

_VN: I have a ten-year plan, to be honest._

_USA: Where do you see yourself in ten years?_

_VN: Well, if I’m not still competing, I want to try coaching, eventually. And I’m hoping to have settled down in my own place at that point, too. I might try to move back to Perrault, even._

_USA: Can you talk a little about why you want to move back to Perrault?_

_VN: It’s kind of petty, but I’d like to reclaim my hometown. I do love Ann Arbor and all, but I was born and raised in Perrault. It’s where my parents were married. I have a lot of history there._

_USA: Would it be strange, considering some of that history?_

_VN: I guess it would be strange, but it’s not like my stepfamily lives there anymore. I guess you want to hear about that?_

_USA: It would fill in some blanks._

_VN: Well, it’s really complicated in parts, but basically it goes like this - my adoptive mom managed to instigate an investigation through the MDHHS [Michigan Department of Health and Human Services] about my treatment while I lived with my stepmother. They weren’t able to prove a lot of stuff that happened, like how I was made to live in the basement and stuff like that, but they discovered that Dina [Montgomery] broke child labor laws when she forced me to work at my parents’ ice rink six days a week for no pay. They were able to get evidence from people who also worked at the rink while I was there and the courts found her guilty. They also found that my dad had left me a trust fund that I was supposed to get this year, actually, but she somehow got to it and spent it all. She was convicted of theft and fraud, and last I heard she had her house foreclosed on and was sent to the state prison. I don’t know what happened to her sons, but I imagine they were put into the foster system like I was. I try not to think about them._

_USA: What about your parents’ rink?_

_VN: I was actually supposed to inherit it once I was old enough, too. We were able to find a copy of my dad’s will in the basement safe as we were going through it with the foreclosure people, and I guess Dina wasn’t able to get into it at all the entire time she lived in the house. Technically, I was supposed to inherit almost everything once I was eighteen. We’re still figuring out what to do about the house, I’m actually all for selling it, and I actually worked out a deal with Hiroko and Toshiya Katsuki for the rink. They’re now the owners and operators of Ice Castle Perrault, and last I heard it’s doing pretty well thanks to all the Olympians that have trained there._

_USA: So is that one of the reasons you want to move back out to Perrault? Would you make Ice Castle Perrault your new home rink?_

_VN: I would love to, to be honest. Ice Castle will always kind of be my first home, even with everything that happened there. Besides, my closest friends are still in Perrault. Until they launch those lucrative careers on Broadway and stuff, I plan on staying close by._

_USA: But until then, what are your plans for college? Do you have any?_

_VN: Well, I’ve been homeschooled ever since I got here. I was thinking of trying online college at first, especially since skating keeps me so busy, but Paolo [Castillo, adoptive father] is able to get a discount on tuition at the University of Michigan. I feel like that might be a good thing to take advantage of._

_USA: What would you want to study?_

_VN: I really don’t know. The only thing I’m passionate about other than my dog and my boyfriend is figure skating. If there’s something that will help me get accredited for coaching, I might pursue that. At this point, I have no idea and that’s very exciting for me. Before coming to live with the Castillos, I figured around now I’d be enlisting in the army or something equally grim. I’m just glad to have this chance at education and a life more my speed._

_USA: You recently went to Russia on non-skating business, what was that about?_

_VN: It was really surreal: [Coach Feltsman] got in contact with the legal representative of my mother’s family last year and we found out that my maternal grandparents left their entire estate to me, I’m set to inherit it when I turn twenty-one. I can’t believe it._

_USA: And this came right after you signed the sponsorship with Kassell Clothing for their athletic line._

_VN: The timing was insane. I’m so incredibly lucky._

_USA: What keeps you grounded?_

_VN: [laughs] Oh, definitely my adoptive parents. I may be a big-shot skater but they’re not afraid to actually ground me when I step over the line. Aria’s disappointed face can get me to do almost anything._

_USA: What’s it like, living with another competitive skater in the house?_

_VN: It’s great, to be honest. Mila and I know what the other is going through during the season, and it’s a little support system, solidarity in meal plans and conditioning. One of the things we do all the time is camp out at the library to work on homework during our off days._

_USA: Does Yuuri join you?_

_VN: The only reason Yuuri isn’t here right now is because he’s with his family in Japan. Paolo suggested that he just move in here and save himself the dorm payments, since he barely spends time in his dorm._

_USA: And now the big question: how does Yuuri feel about you competing against him?_

_VN: He actually wanted it. I’m not joking, we literally made a deal about it when we first started dating, and now I’m finally going to be able to keep my end of it. I think we’ll be able to push each other beyond our own limits once given the chance, and we’re both very much looking forward to it and whatever else the future brings._

…

 

Even at Senior level, the feeling before a skate never changed.

I breathed in the smell of the Beijing rink as the skater ahead of me - Guang-hong - stepped out onto the ice for his free skate. This was my first time in the senior Grand Prix, and already I felt like I was old hat at all this.

“Remember,” Yakov said, watching Guang-hong as the music started up. “Try to stick as close to the choreography that we submitted, no surprises.”

“But I love surprises,” I protested, only half-serious.

Yakov made a noise halfway between a sigh and a groan. “It’s too soon for this.”

“You know you love me.”

Yakov rubbed his forehead and rolled his eyes. “Oy vey.”

I grinned at him, but then jumped in surprise when someone tapped my shoulder. I turned around and had to smother a delighted scream when my eyes met Yuuri’s.

“I thought you were still in Japan!” I whispered, throwing myself at him.

“What, and miss your first Grand Prix free skate?” Yuuri pecked me on the forehead, and I whined and poked him. It felt like my forehead was getting wider with every passing month. I was too young to be going bald, and no one was sympathetic _at all_.

“Yeah, but don’t you want to be home?” I asked, digging my chin into his collarbone. He tried to nudge me off, but I clung to him like a limpet.

“That can wait,” Yuuri said. “Yurio went ahead of me, so I’ll travel back with you, if that’s okay.”

I felt my entire face light up. “Sounds fine to me!”

Yakov snorted behind me.

Yuuri glanced at my coach, and then took my hands. “Listen, there’s… something. Real quick. Come back here.”

I blinked in confusion as Yuuri tugged me out into the empty hallway outside of the rink. “Yuuri, what--”

“I… hold on.” Yuuri was digging in his jacket pocket now, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration.

I started to get nervous. “Yuuri, what’s going on?”

Yuuri looked up at me. “I have something,” he said. “I mean.” His eyes brightened and he pulled his closed fist out of his pocket. “Give me your hand.”

I stared at him as he took my hand in his own and raised it to his lips. “Yuuri--”

My words left me as he revealed what he had in his closed hand - _a gold ring_ \- and slipped it onto my ring finger.

“There,” he said softly. “I kept waiting for the right moment to do that, but I never found one. So I’m doing it now.”

“Yuuri,” I said faintly. “Did you just propose to me?”

Yuuri bit his lip. “Uh.”

“Because usually you get down on one knee, and there’s a box--”

“It’s more like… a good luck charm,” Yuuri said, kissing my ring. “If I was going to propose to you, you’d know.”

“So you just proposed to me.”

“A little.”

“I love you so much,” I whispered, throwing my arms around him and drawing him close. Our lips met, and I didn’t even mind that his mouth tasted like whatever he’d had to drink last. All that mattered was--

“ _Vitya!_ ”

We snapped apart as Yakov poked his head out into the hallway. “Of all the times-- _Vitya_ , you are up next!”

“Go,” Yuuri said with one last kiss. “Go get your gold medal, and then we’ll do the rest later.”

I grinned at him, and then I was back in the arena and stepping onto the ice again.

 

* * *

 

 

“ _And then the Prince returned to his kingdom with his True Love, and they built themselves a little castle of their own. Their kingdom was the most peaceful and prosperous in the land, and when the time came for them to pass on their thrones, they found the perfect princess to take care of the kingdom. And they all lived happily ever after._ ”

“Tell me another story, Papa.”

“Danielle, it’s already way past your bedtime. I think you’d better try a dream instead.”

“I’m not even tired!”

“Says you, look at how your eyes are drooping.”

“I can’t do that, silly Papa!”

“Exactly. It’s sleepy time, darling.”

“Noooo, Papa! Tell me more stories!”

“Tomorrow. And remember, all your uncles are coming over tomorrow, too. I’m sure they’ll have plenty of stories to tell you. Don’t you want to be awake for that?”

“I guess.”

“Good girl. Get some sleep, and tomorrow will be here before you know it.”

A knock. “Vitya, is she still awake?”

“Daddy!”

“I was just convincing her to try going to sleep.”

“Papa was telling me about the Cinderella Boy!”

“Again? How many times have you heard that one?”

“It’s her favorite, Yuuri. I’m going to enjoy this while she’s still willing to listen to it.”

A fond sigh. “Of course.”

“Now, Princess, will you sleep?”

“Okay.”

“Good girl. Here’s Molly Ragdolly, I think she fell out of your bed, there you go. Sweet dreams, Princess.”

“Goodnight, Papa. Goodnight, Daddy.”

“Goodnight, Ellie.”

A soft click.

“Why do you give in with that story all the time? You know how long it takes to tell it.”

“But it wears her out.”

“You’re not just telling it over and over because it’s _our_ story?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Hah. Well, fine. Your Prince Charming has been waiting all week for some attention, Cinderella Boy.”

“Oooh, Yuuri.”

Soft music played in the distance.

“May I have this dance, Vitya?”

“And every single one afterwards.”

 

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> There are a lot of people that I need to thank.
> 
> First off, huge thank you Bunny for letting me ramble at her all the way back in the springtime about my love for _A Cinderella Story_ and my plans for this fic.
> 
> Thank you to Gab for believing in me and convincing me I could write a YA novel. This was a wild ride.
> 
> Gigantic thank you to the Bedtime Stories server on discord for cheering me on, you guys are seriously the best and I am forever grateful for your support in this!
> 
> Special thanks to the other writing servers I poked in and out of to scream in, I'm so glad that this fandom and community is full of supportive people and enablers at times!
> 
> The maximum pile of thank you's to my artist Rakel, who pulled off some truly beautiful artwork for me and encouraged me so much while I was nearing the end. It was so much fun working with you!
> 
> [Feel free to listen to the "soundtrack" playlist on Spotify!](https://open.spotify.com/user/cq57pw7rqj2o1fkg46gy537c7/playlist/6Urxhv64bqZVelwbO6INAX?si=sn-gGG9KRgm1VpKe--6YNQ)
> 
> If you'd like to visit me off AO3, I'm on [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/LinneaKou) and [Tumblr](http://linneakou.tumblr.com)! I love talking to people!


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